


The Danger Zone

by Nejinee



Series: These Streets 'verse [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Police, Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Beefy Bucky, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Cop Steve, Cuddling & Snuggling, Firefighter Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Major Character Injury, Police officer Steve, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Steve feels like he's never going to get through to Bucky, that their fleeting moments never amount to anything substantial. How one-sided can a relationship get before it fails?Bucky's not good with what Steve wants because what he's asking for...it's a lot. He doesn't want to have to change but he fears he might have already.And while they figure themselves out, America gets her head in the game and does her own investigative work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! 
> 
> Well, we're here. This is the final installment of [These Streets](http://archiveofourown.org/series/781374).
> 
> Also, multiple POVs. Yay! Extra confusing!

 

* * *

AMERICA

* * *

_ Saturday 10:00  _

 

America heard the knocking, but ignored it. She hated answering the door to whoever thought it was okay to be bugging them on a damn Saturday.

When she heard the footsteps fade away, she put down the towel she’d been folding. Her abuela was asleep on her favourite armchair and it was kinda sweet to have a quiet day to be just them.

America patted the stack of laundry before heading to the door and peeking out the peephole. She yanked the door open and scowled.

She ripped off the yellow paper taped to chipped paint.

“What the hell?” she breathed, feeling anger boiling inside her. She stepped out onto the porch and glanced down both ways.

“Hey!” She yelled, spotting the guy in the suit. “Hey, you!”

The man didn’t respond, just kept walking up by the Wing house. America bounded down the two front steps and stormed over to the guy.

“You, hey!” she barked louder. The man, in a grey suit that looked far too upscale for his dumpy stature, turned. He blinked, both hands already up, tape in one hand, a sheaf of papers in another.

“Can I help you?” he asked carefully.

“The fuck is this?” America waved the yellow sheet wildly. “A rent hike? We just _had a rent hike.”_

The man’s mouth twisted, and he finished taping up a sheet on Colleen’s door. He turned and came down the steps to America’s level.

“Sorry, miss,” he shrugged, “The whole complex is getting it.”

“You can’t do this,” America snarled. “City regulations say you can’t increase shit by more than two percent!” 

The man had his full hands up, “Hey, hey, I’m not the guy here. I’m just the messenger.”

“We got an increase six months ago!” America barked. “This is illegal.”

The guy, whatever his dumbass name was, just sighed, like she was some rabbit that had wandered in his patch of farmland and he would have to shoo her off with a broom.

“It is _not_ illegal,” he said, immediately raising a hand when she started to retort. “It is not illegal if the current units are being rented out at much lower than legally regulated rates. This whole block has been grandfathered in under rent prices from the eighties.”

“Bull. Shit,” she said, folding her arms.

The guy seemed real put off by her language, and he straightened his jacket.

“If you, or your parents have an issue, you’ll have to take it up with the owners of the complex,” he said curtly. “Good day, miss.”

“You bet your receding hairline we _will_ ,” America said angrily, scrunching up the paper in her hands.

 

* * *

 

“We can’t afford this,” America’s abuela said, later. “Mi ángel,” she shook her head.

“Seriously,” Kate said from the ratty sofa with the deep slice in the left cushion where they hid the remote. “This ain’t cool. Man, nobody on the block can afford this. We’re barely covering it now.”

America was still pacing, her rage flowing like wine through her veins. “Even if,” she breathed, trying to calm herself, “Even if I take on more hours at the craft store, there ain’t no way this is gonna work.”

Her abuela’s pension was pitiful to begin with and her medication cost a _lot._ They couldn’t _move_.

“Who was that guy?” Kate muttered.

“He said we gotta talk to the complex owners,” America said.

Kate rolled to her feet. “Okay, but, like, did the place get _new_ owners or something?” 

America shrugged. “Looks like it.” She held up her phone. “Some conglomerate, Fisk Corp. They bought the rental housing network, like, a year ago and nobody said nothin’.”

Kate scanned the website. “Damn. Covers Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Island.”

“Such utter crap,” America hissed. “This don’t sound right.”

“America,” her abuela said softly. “Listen, it will be okay. We will figure this out.”

“No, look,” she went over and knelt beside her abuela. “I don’t think so. not this time. There’s been too much weird shit goin’ down.” her abuela frowned at the curse. “They’re trying to get rid of us, Yaya. Gentrification, remember? We had a whole class on it that one time and I did that stupid project on it.”

“So much glitter,” Kate said softly.

“And,” America went on, “We know it only benefits the rich white folks; The ones who wanna move us _out_ and get _in_ , and treat our homes, and our history like it’s theirs.”

Her abuela smiled softly. “Ay.”

“Plus,” America added, “Your friends? What about them, huh?”

The Grayson center for the elderly had taken a bad hit after that big fire. All the old folks had been moved out and placed in stupid community city housing, most of ‘em split up and placed miles from their friends and families. It was terrible. America kept harrassing the city planners every time she spotted some working by the burnt-out building, but they never had anything to say. They were all just slaves to the system.

“It’s not right,” She said again. I gotta do something.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Kate said, coming forward, hand going to America’s shoulder. She wasn’t being negative, just asking.

“I’m gonna follow that rat bastard. Find the main guys and tell them exactly what I think.”

Kate looked at her slowly. “You know that ain’t gonna do anything if they got the law behind ‘em.”

“Well, watch me anyway,” America said loudly.

 

* * *

BUCKY

* * *

  _Saturday 11:00_

 

“Hey Barnes.”

Bucky turned and squinted. “Wade,” he murmured.

“You got the number five jack? Three just broke on me,” Wade said with a wide smile.

Bucky frowned. He wiped at his filthy fingers, eyeing the corolla he’d just finished up on. “Sure. Let me just get it out.”

He crouched low and swiftly wound the jack’s lever, lowering the back end of the car to the ground. He rolled it out and stood, then nudged it towards the other man, trying to hide the grimace as he straightened.

“Thanks,” Wade said, pulling at the jack. “Uh, you okay, man?”

Bucky nodded, not at all wanting to elaborate on why his ass was hurting so much.

Sure, he’d definitely enjoyed the endeavour, but it was times like this that Bucky was glad Steve usually played bottom to his top. 

He walked round the car, checking all the details. Headlights fixed, mirrors replaced. Engine all good, check, check, check. He picked up the few miscellaneous tools he’d left lying around, counting them off as he went.

He went over to bay number five’s worktop and pulled out the clipboard he had to fill in.

Leaning against the table, Bucky checked off the changes he’d done and jotted down minor details that may come up later.

He tapped the freshly sharpened number two pencil against his lip. 

Steve had been good, though. Real good. I wasn’t often that they got drunk together, but…yeah. Nice and all.

He could feel himself smiling and had to forcibly clear his throat and stand up, lest he wield a weirdo boner at work.

“All good?” Delaney asked when he handed over the clipboard and went over to the job board to snag a new one.

“Yep,” Bucky grunted, picking the silver Lincoln. He flipped through the client’s request. “Remind the guy to clean his undercarriage,”

Delaney looked up.

Bucky squinted at his boss knowing full well how dumb that sounded. “I mean, the guy clearly never does, so the salt’s ruining it.”

“Ah,” Delaney nodded, looking back down at Bucky’s completed order.

Bucky chewed his lip and read down the list of detailing the Lincoln required. “Says here the wheels get stuck a lot?” he looked up.

“Yeah,” Delaney sighed. He dropped the order on his front desk, by the register. “Hell of a lady.”

Bucky’s brows rose.

“Comes in here, all dolled up, like fancy, you know?” Delaney said. “Fur coat and all. Says her car’s sticking, ‘ _wheels get stuck. Get them unstuck’_ , yadda, yadda.”

Bucky nodded, “Okay, deadline?”

“Today? Tomorrow morning?” Delaney made a weird face because of _course_ he promised some rich broad her car back early.

“You know…” Bucky griped, shaking his head. But that was all he said, choosing instead to grab the Lincoln’s keys off the peg board and get to work.

 

* * *

AMERICA

* * *

_Saturday 17:00_

She was crouched down behind some trash that stank of Indian food, but it was a good cover. In the shadow of the stumpy building, they’d never see her.

That douche, the rent-hiker, he was such a loser to not even watch his back.

She’d followed him all the way out of her neighbourhood. The guy was clearly local, as he hadn’t bothered to drive, but hell if she knew who he was, and she knew _everyone_.

He ended up entering one of the new fancy high rises that had been built last year, one of the places folks like America would never get to live in unless there was some kinda zombie apocalypse and only the live-hard-die-young people like her got control of everything. When he came back out after lunch, she’d gotten real close. He was a loud yapper on the phone, talking and walking like he was some hotshot.

The guy’s name was Chuck. 

Chuck wasn’t a smart man, but he _was_ boisterous, so America had gotten a real earful of how he’d slapped notices to all the units in her complex and how he’d ‘handled’ a couple rowdy tenants with big mouths and ‘bad, bitter attitudes’.

He spent a good ten minutes smoking on the corner, so America was able to make a quick toilet run at the gas station, along with buying a gatorade and power bar. Got to keep her strength, after all.

And here she was, an hour later, after blocks and blocks of walking, listening to him talk to a couple of big, rangy lookin’ dudes down by the water, on 39th. 

They were too far away for her to hear them clearly, but something didn’t feel right and Bucky always said _if your gut don’t feel good, get out._

She steeled her limbs and waited some more.

These guys, they weren’t clean-cut real estate dorks. These guys were trouble, for sure. She spotted a few prison tatts when they’d rolled up in a hideous brown car from, like, the seventies. What was dumpy-assed Chuck doing talking to guys like this?

From what she had gathered, they definitely shared a boss. A boss that made Chuck fumble and stutter on the phone.

What kind of boss had the likes of realtor McFartface and Muscle-head Bob and Bill under them?

She twisted, still hidden by the trash, and pulled out her cellphone.

Bucky always said that she should never try stupid shit alone. So she tapped the location services icon on her phone, and then opened Whatsapp.

  

* * *

BUCKY

* * *

_ Saturday 21:30  _

“He’s a funny guy,” Steve was saying, “Useless and completely out of shape, but funny.”

“How can they even let unfit guys on the police force though?” Bucky murmured from his spot on the other end of Steve’s sofa, his legs stretched out, feet in Steve’s lap while they watched the Star Trek reboot with the pretty Vulcan lady. “Don’t you all have to run up stairwells and carry people to safety and shit?”

Steve snorted, “Well, sometimes. A lot of cops are desk jockeys. I’m a desk jockey a lot of the time.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Bucky said, poking his toe into Steve’s rock-hard stomach. Steve let out an unearthly squeal that was _well_ worth the effort. “ _How_ is that a human noise?” Bucky snorted, covering his mouth with his hand.

Steve frowned and pinched at Bucky’s achilles heel. Bucky grunted and pulled his feet back.

“You watch it,” Steve said. 

Bucky winked and Steve threw a cushion at his head.

“Enough making fun of cops,” Steve huffed, slouching back into his seat. “How was work?”

Bucky shrugged. He stared at Steve, who was, in turn, staring at the TV. “Fine,” he murmured. He chewed his lip. He wanted to…but it wasn’t his deal. He should probably leave it– “This car came in though,” he said, clearly not heeding his own brain’s commands. “ _Listen_.”

“Huh? I’m listening,” Steve said, clearly still staring at the aliens on the screen.

“ _Rogers_ ,” Bucky jammed his heel into Steve’s thigh.

“Ow! Damnit, Buck,” Steve said, pushing at Bucky’s foot. “Okay, what?” Bucky was frowning. Steve’s expression softened. “What?”

“Look,” Bucky began and unsure of where he was going, “It’s bad enough you’re a cop, but this is not my gig, okay?”

Steve rolled his eyes, completely _over_ Bucky’s annoyance with law enforcement.

“Listen,” Bucky growled, “I’m serious. I don’t ever wanna be a snitch or anything, or somehow get involved in your job.”

Steve’s face went lax, but alert.

Bucky sighed, “So you mentioned before about the fire. You said there was stuff you’d been looking into, trying to find the suppliers of whatever got it going?”

Steve nodded.

“You–“ Bucky paused to twist his lips. “You said to keep an eye out for anything, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. So this car came in today. Real new, shiny Lincoln. Owner says the wheels aren’t turning, they’re getting stuck. You know, the usual.”

“Okay,” Steve said.

“It’s usually rusted lugs or whatever, pretty common in winter. Except the car’s like, barely six months old.”

Steve just watched him.

“So, I get in there and it’s dark and I get my lamp over, scope the drum, the lugs, the whole thing. Except, it wasn’t rust. There was a massive buildup of this black, like, _mess_ on the wheel well.”

Steve’s brows shot up.

“Stank like hell, too,” Bucky made a face. “Like when they paved the main drag a few years back. Disgusting.”

“Was it–“ Steve leaned over, closer, eyes not leaving Bucky’s.

“I think so, yeah,” Bucky shrugged. “It was black tar. Real thick up in both back wheel wells. Had to scrape the shit out.”

“You scraped it all?” Steve said.

Bucky’s head rolled to look Steve in the eye. “Kinda had to. Client job.”

Steve frowned, “But Buck, if it’s the same stuff from the big fire, we could trace it!”

“I don’t know about that shit,” Bucky said gruffly. “And I can’t exactly bottle it up and give it to you, can I?”

“Well…” Steve waved his hands for a bit. Then he deflated. He knew what Bucky meant. Just ‘cos they were… _whatever_ , didn’t mean Bucky could go interfering in any police business. And Steve can’t be affiliating himself with anyone who is involved with such things. Conflict of interest, and such.

“Can you at least tell me–“

“No, Rogers,” Bucky said with a firmness rarely seen. “I can’t give you my client’s name _or_ ,” he glared at Steve’s retort-face, “their license plate.”

“Ugh,” Steve rubbed at his face. “But this could be big! A real break! We haven’t gotten jack squat outta the damn corporation looking to buy the burnt-out building! They’re lawyer-blocking the hell out of us, daily. Bureaucracy, Bucky! Come on.”

“No,” Bucky said. 

He watched Steve slump back dramatically into the sofa.

Bucky chewed on his lip, pulling, tucking his feet closer.

“Client’s picking up the car in the morning,” Bucky said.

Steve’s head shot up.

“I’m not in ’til lunch,” Bucky went on.

“So…” Steve sat up straighter, “You mean, if I, or one of my fellow officers, just _happens_ to be in the shop, and–“ he started to crawl closer. Bucky frowned harder. “One of us _happens_ to spot anything weird…”

“Like some weird black stain on the floor by bay five,” Bucky grumbled. “A stain I mighta missed when cleaning up.”

Steve crawled even closer, face lighting up in that way that made Bucky retreat further.

“Rogers,” he grunted.

“Uh huh,” Steve hummed, leaning in close. His chest was pressed to Bucky’s knees.

“Fuck off, you weirdo,” Bucky growled, pushing at Steve’s face with his hand.

  

* * *

STEVE

* * *

  _Sunday 12:00_

 

He looked up at the classic brownstone. It was clean and tidy, but didn’t stand out in any way. Steve double-checked the address he’d gotten from running the plates.

Bucky had, of course, been correct. When Steve rolled up to Delaney’s citing tire troubles with the cruiser, it had given him time to stroll about the joint before heading in to work.

The black stain (and small lump of black goo) had been there, and so had the Lincoln. 

So Steve’d noted the license plate, scraped what he could off the floor and into an evidence baggie, and nonchalantly waited for the cruiser’s tires to be pumped.

A quick run by the forensics department at least confirmed that the black gunk _was_ tar, but it would take time to find out what type and where it might have come from.

So Steve, not wanting to twiddle his thumbs, just told Sam he was heading out on a possible clue, to which Sam shook his head, still bent over his mound of paperwork.

A woman answered at the second knock.

She was middle-aged and well-dressed and to Steve, sharp.

“Hi, excuse me, ma’am,” Steve smiled and tipped his police hat. “I’m looking for a Vanessa Mariana. I just have a few questions to ask.”

She stared at him, then said, “Questions? About what?”

“Really, I’m just looking into information regarding some incidents lately. I was at my mechanic shop getting a tune-up, and noticed something near your car that might help me in my case.”

Steve smiled some more, hoping he didn’t look intimidating. They had a lot of training on how to talk to women, especially if on their own, and in their own homes. The whole point of questioning was to be able to get the chance to even _ask_ questions. He had to be careful.

“May I come in?” he asked, going for polite and gentle.

She paused, looked him over, then stepped back. He couldn’t help thinking how very different the people in his neighbourhood responded to questions like that.

“You may enter,” she said, with a slight accent. “But I will require your name and badge number.”

She shut the front door and led him into the living room.

“Of course,” he nodded and listed his details while she wrote them down on a massive notebook she had laid out on a glass coffee table. She also pulled out a cellphone and took a photo of him. “For my own safety, you understand,” she murmured. “There are always men walking around, trying to hurt innocent people. Some even dress up like the police, you know?”

Steve nodded. He _did_ know, unfortunately.

The home was lavish in an understated way. Polished white tile floor, pristinely clean furniture that shone in the sunlight streaming through the large front window and a sort of velvet sofa set in a remarkable shade of teal. No TV in sight. This was _that_ kind of home.

“So, Officer … Rogers,” she said, folding her arms. “What exactly can I help you with?”

Steve scratched his nose and opened up his own scruffy notepad, rippled from rain and stuffed with scribbles.

“All right, well, it won’t take long. Uhm, can you tell me where the tar found on your car might have come from?”

She tilted her head slightly, “Excuse me?”

“The tar,” Steve waved his pen around. “I found tar on the floor of the mechanic shop this morning, and it has turned out to be pivotal evidence in a case I’m working on. If we can find the origin of the stuff, we might get a lead on a suspect or two. Really, that’s all I’ll be needing.”

“How did you–“ she began, then cut herself off. “Surely it’s not legal for my mechanic to give out my personal information like my name and home address?”

“Oh, no, no, of course.” Steve said, “I just jotted down your license number, seeing as your car was nearest. Figured there was no harm in trying. I’ll be calling the other car owners that were in today as well.” That little lie could fly under the radar. “I didn’t see your car out front.”

She eyed him, “It’s parked in the back.” Then she raised a hand, “Wait, so you have come to my home to ask me about some grime found jamming up my car? How on earth is that relevant to anything?”

“Ma’am,” Steve tilted his head and smiled, “I know it sounds bizarre, but this stuff is pretty unique. If maybe you can recall any places you’ve been lately that might have stuff like it around? You could have perhaps just driven over a patch, or into a wet pothole. Like, say, near a construction site? Or on a side road, highway? Anything would help.”

She seemed to think for a while. 

“Well, I did have trouble a while back. The only thing I can think of was hitting a steep bump in the road last weekx, but…honestly, it didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Can you recall where that was?” Steve had his pen ready.

“I was leaving Newark,” she said calmly. “Exited the highway, hit a bump in the road. Honestly, that’s the only thing that I can recall even remotely related to my car.”

Steve nodded and jotted down the exact location. She had a great memory.

“Do you mind me asking what you were doing in Newark, ma’am?” he asked.

“Delivering a painting to a client,” she said archly.

Steve jotted that down too.

“And, are you the primary user of your vehicle?”

She squinted at him, “Yes. I am.”

“All righty,” Steve said. “Do you mind if I take a look at the car again?”

“Didn’t you get your fill poking around at the garage?” she responded.

“No,” he said sheepishly. “I was a bit preoccupied at the time.”

He could see her patience was wearing thin.

“Do you mind if–“

“I think I’ve done enough, officer,” she said crisply. “I’ve answered your frankly invasive questions and please, I do hope you find whoever you’re looking for, but please, I’d like you to leave now.”

“Right,” Steve nodded. “I can do that. No problem.”

She walked to the door and waited while he tried to not sound like a creep.

“Thank you for your time,” he said warmly. “I’m certain it will help.” He tapped his notepad with a smile. “Immensely.” He pulled out one of the cards the force supplied all officers and handed it to her. “If you remember anything or have an idea please don’t hesitate to call.”

“I’m sure,” she said archly, taking the card and then just closed the door in his face, the lock clicking audibly after.

“Yikes,” he breathed and walked down the steps and over to the cruiser parked on the side of the road.

Well, that was something at least. He’d be able to get the team out there to investigate, even if it was a bit of a drive.

 

* * *

BUCKY

* * *

_Sunday 22:00_

 

“What do you mean you’ve been following some guys?” Bucky asked.

“Not _guys_ ,” America huffed, chewing loudly around the beef stroganoff Bucky had put together. 

It was _very_ late, even for him, and she was here babbling away like always. “ _Guy._ Singular. The stupid ass with the rent hikes.”

“So you followed him? Why?” Bucky snapped shut the lunch containers he had lined up on the counter. Then he stacked the whole lot and heaved them towards the fridge. America got up to help him open the door and jam them into the one bare shelf available.

“Bec _ause,_ ” she sighed loudly with enough eye roll action to make young people across the globe proud. “He was shady, alright? I ain’t gonna let these fuckers win.”

“Be careful,” Bucky said, giving her a _look_. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid.”

“I’m not gonna,” she muttered, sitting back down in front of her free dinner. “I’m gonna out-loophole them with the exactitude and menacing malevolence of the law.” She began shovelling food into her mouth not unlike a dump truck. It was a sight to behold.

“Don’t choke,” he grunted, “I might know CPR but I’m shit with the heimlich.” She just smiled with her mouth full. “Gross,” Bucky shook his head.

 

By the time she was ready to get on with things, Bucky had packed up a couple extra dishes for her to take with her.

“For your grandma,” he murmured, shoving the strap of the burlap shopping bag up her shoulder.

“You know, she _can_ cook,” America said.

“I know,” Bucky said, “But I had extra.”

“Yeah, extra _my ass_ ,” America sighed, defeated. “I gotta get up early, you know.”

Bucky frowned, “Why? It’s a school day tomorrow and I know you ain’t been to early morning mass since that time you threw down with Gregory Morton in the church courtyard for flickin’ girls’ skirts.”

“Ah, the good ol’ days,” she hummed. “But no; The potato-shaped douchebag said he was gonna be down by the docks again tomorrow. Had some big meeting planned, or whatever. I gotta pack my stuff. I was way under-prepared this time. Fuckin’ starved, man.”

“Douchebag?” Bucky said, “You don’t–no, hey, listen–“

“Listen nothin’,” she said, slightly louder, like she could drown out his displeasure with her voice. “I’ve got a civic duty to bust ass.”

“America,” Bucky said. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing: it really, really is. I can’t let these big conglomera-whatzits trample us into the ground. Trust me, I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I’m not gonna _jump_ the guy.”

Bucky folded his arms.

“I’m _not!_ ” she cried, “I’m gonna do it the right way. I’ll bring backup and all. I won’t even let him know I’m following him.”

Bucky was scowling, practically bristling with negative comebacks, until…he sagged a little.

“Okay, I get it. Just…don’t act like some hero from the movies, ok? You see real trouble, you call for help. You call me, or Nat or Clint. You know it’s better’n bein’ caught stalking a loser, right?”

“ _Yessss_ ,” America trilled. “Got it, pops.”

“I know I can’t stop you. I mean, I _could_. But I trust you, you hear? You take backup and you be the better person, whatever that means. Don’t break your grandma’s heart.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you _went_ there,” America sighed. “Yes. Okay, yes. Got it all. Now can I go?”

Bucky snorted and opened up the front door.

She heaved all her goods out and waved, loping easily down the steps and to her home in the building complex directly across the street. Bucky waited until he saw the porch light come on, and the door swing shut behind her, before he turned in.

When he passed the hall table, his phone lit up. He flipped it into his palm, knowing full well who would be texting this late at night.

* * *

BUCKY

* * *

_Sunday 23:30_

 

“I’m so damn tired,” Steve muttered, rubbing at his face. The idiot had already dropped his police jacket in the front hall and his boots were lolling at the bottom of the staircase.

“Mmmm,” Bucky hummed and led him further back into his house. “So why the house call, officer?” he said.

“What? I can’t just come visit you?” Steve responded, following Bucky into the kitchen. 

Bucky shrugged. He got back to cleaning up the mess from cooking. He ran the kitchen faucet a while and threw the miscellaneous spoons and utensils into the frothing water. “Were you busy today?” Steve went on.

Bucky scrubbed at a wooden spoon that had perhaps seen one too many hot pots.

“Not really,” he said, “There was talk about the rent hike. Community’s really pissed.”

“I heard about that,” Steve said. “What’s the general consensus?”

Bucky shrugged. “A lot of talk, not much doing, yet.”

He rinsed off the utensils and laid them out on a towel, then yanked out the outdated plug, setting a mental reminder to replace it. It was his mother’s one, and it had seen far too many suds over the decades. He grabbed another towel to dry his hands, then turned, leaning back against the counter.

Steve was across the kitchen island watching him with a strange look.

“What?” Bucky said.

“I can leave, you know,” Steve said.

Bucky frowned. _Huh?_

“I mean, if I’m bothering you,” Steve went on.

“What?” Bucky was confused. He dropped the towel on the counter behind him. “What are you talking about now?”

“You’re–“ Steve sighed and stood up straighter before lolling his head back on his neck. “You’re clearly being evasive or something with me. If you want alone time, just say it, Bucky.”

The fuck was happening? Had Bucky fallen into an alternate dimension? “Hey, I ain’t said anything. You have a bad day or somethin’?”

“No,” Steve said, looking at him again. “In fact, I had really _good_ day. I got tons of good info and maybe moved some cases along. And then I thought I’d have a wind-down of an evening. I thought I might take the time to come see you, ask you about your day and then you just…”

“I just what?” Bucky said perhaps a little too sharply.

“You’re being all evasive again,” Steve said. “I know you hate that I’m a cop, okay. I get it, I do. But you can tell me stuff without thinking i’m gonna rat on people.”

Bucky shook his head, confused. “I didn’t say anything.” Seriously, what the hell was happening?

“ _Exactly_ ,” Steve said with exasperation. “I’m genuinely interested to hear what the locals are saying about the rent hikes. They’re sounding really shady to me and it’s not like I can do much, but I want to still know if I can help _somehow._ ”

“Yeah, and?”

“And you just _shrugged_ me off and told me nothing!” Steve said.

“Well, I don’t have anything to say about it,” Bucky retorted, feeling the first hints of anger tickling under his skin. “What’s crawled up you ass, Rogers?”

Steve huffed loudly, dramatically, and turned a bit.

“I don’t know why I even bother, honestly,” he muttered, “Why do I come over here?”

“You know exactly why,” Bucky snorted.

Steve looked at him. “You think it’s for the sex, don’t you? Because that’s what it is for you.”

Bucky made a face.

“Yeah, see, even just mentioning it makes you want to run,” Steve said.

“Hey, look,” Bucky began, but was cut off.

“No, you look,” Steve said, “I _know_ you want to have sex with me on the regular. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

Bucky frowned and crossed his arms.

“But it’s not–“ Steve started, then seemed to rethink his words. “–It’s not the same for me,” he said. Then he wavered, in a way that Bucky had never witnessed. “Do you get that?”

Bucky tooka deep breath, his brow still furrowed. “Yeah, i understand,” he muttered.

“But do you really?” Steve pressed. “Because it never feels like you do. Or you don’t want to make a choice, or whatever.”

“Choice?” Bucky looked at him, “ About what?”

“About what we _are_!” Steve threw his hands up. “You and me!”

“Why do we have to _be_ anything? Stuff works fine as it is,” Bucky said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Steve said. 

“What,” Bucky said, “You suddenly not okay with fucking? You want to fuck other people? Be my guest.”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

Bucky huffed and chewed his lip. “We don’t gotta define anything. We don’t have to talk about it. Why do you want to complicate what we’ve already got?”

“Because,” Steve said, “Every time I come here, or I _think_ of coming here, I falter. I hesitate outside your damn house every time because I’m not sure you even want to see me. Or that I’m just gonna be barging into your perfect little quiet life. And that you don’t want me all the time, only when it suits you.”

Bucky’s eyes followed him as Steve paced on his side of the island.

“I used to be okay with it,” Steve said, “Being a damn booty call. And I convinced myself it was fine, it was cool. But I’m not, okay? Why do you get to call the shots on this? Why can't I have any say in how we are with each other? Why am I the one left hanging?”

He stopped and turned to stare at Bucky who was just roiling on the inside. He didn’t like where this was going.

“Bucky,” Steve said firmly. “Fuckin’ say something.”

And Bucky just fretted internally. Because he didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t want things to change,” he muttered.

“So we just keep this going, as-is?” Steve said. “We just fuck, then pretend it doesn’t happen? Over and over again? Nothing else?”

Bucky shrugged, and that was obviously the wrong thing to do, because Steve’s jaw tightened.

“You don’t get me at all, do you?” Steve said.

“Not when you just come over here to freak out,” Bucky retorted. “You don’t gotta get emotional. You don’t have to get invested.”

Steve just stared at him and damn, he lost that sparkle in his eye, like Bucky had done him wrong. But he hadn’t! Bucky was just being honest.

“You don’t even know why I come round,” Steve pushed his hands against the island counter, standing at his full height. He shook his head. “Fine. Whatever.”

Okay, so maybe this little dramatic fit was done. Bucky was damn tired and–

“I’m going home,” Steve turned and just walked out the kitchen.

Bucky blinked, actually surprised. He followed Rogers out and into the front hall.

He wanted to say something, something better, perhaps. What would Steve want to hear?

“Rogers…” Bucky began, but trailed off.

Steve was jamming his foot into a boot. He shook his head. “Don’t pretend, Buck. I know you don’t, or can't do this. Forget it.”

He yanked on his jacket and didn’t even look at Bucky before pulling the front door open and storming out and down the front steps.

Bucky went to the door and watched Steve turn on the sidewalk, back to his motorcycle.

He clenched his jaw and slammed the door, making the glass panes rattle.

“Well fuck you too,” he hissed under his breath.

* * *

STEVE

* * *

_ Monday 00:24 _

 

He kept driving, just driving. It wasn’t too hard to get lost in his thoughts, feel the cold wind against his knuckles.

The streets were bustling, even after midnight, and he found solace in that, that everything didn’t stop at eight PM. Life was always more than it seemed. A woman was walking home, arms laden with grocery bags from the twenty-four hour supermarket on the main drag. Another shop owner was locking up his metal gate before probably heading home to a nice family and warm bed. Steve wasn’t bitter about that, no way.

His harley rumbled to a stop, purring beneath him as he lowered his feet to the ground and waited for the light to change.

Maybe he shouldn’t have blown up like that.

Maybe he should be going back and begging Bucky to listen, to consider, to take him back inside.

“Idiot,” Steve huffed inside his helmet. He was so pissed, and so unhappy. Maybe he’d really fucked up this time? Bucky wasn’t the most genteel person after all. Maybe steve should have spoken in terms that a repressed man like Bucky could handle, but he was beyond that when he was so angry. 

The light turned green so Steve pulled his feet up and revved his engine, rolling forward just as the SUV in front moved with the traffic. Traffic was pretty heavy down here, what with the late night trucks heading out on the trans-state deliveries. It was wonderful to just slide along, humming loudly enough to drown out Steve’s unrelenting thoughts.

He indicated, checking his blindspot, and then moved over into the left lane, wanting to burn a little rubber.

His bike was really something. His baby. At least when he put pedal to the medal like this, nothing else really mattered. It was just him, the wild roar of the engine beneath him and the dark, orange-lit roads of his home city. Beautiful, even in the busy urban centres.

It was–

A van coming the opposite direction veered suddenly, tires squealing, careening Steve’s way. 

He jolted, twisting the handlebar as the van jumped the concrete median and hurtled closer. It gave a mighty shriek of metal as Steve’s front tire scraped right and he fell hard against the van’s side, the weight of that collision knocking him right back into the traffic behind him.

“Fuck!” Steve cried, his handlebar immediately catching on the asphalt and twisting sharply, almost tearing his arms forward before he was flung bodily right off the monster.

He’d done defensive driving for motorcycles but this wasn’t anything like training. Horns blared and more cars whizzed by, careening away as best they could.

Steve rolled, having no control as to where he was going. His leg screamed in agony and his shoulder hit the ground hard.

Dazed, he stared up at the night sky, heaving air into his lungs. He had to move. Cars were coming. This was a high traffic intersection. He blinked, the sounds of yelling and honking, and metal screaming taking up his other senses. Fuck, his head hurt.

He heard voices, people hovering over him, their voices bubbling in his ears.

“Sir! Can you hear me! Are you okay?” a man barked in his face.

_Yes,_ Steve tried to say, but he wasn’t sure it came out. He had no air. _Winded._

More people. More voices. Lights.

Steve tried to sit up. His vision was clearing and he blinked, trying to refocus on what was going on.

A few people had gathered, some of them yelling into cellphones.

He winced and got up on one elbow.

“Shit,” he bit out. His leg was in agony. He must have clipped it on the way down. Damn lucky it hadn’t been sandwiched under his bike.

“Where’s–“ he said.

“Hush, hush, it’s okay, lie down,” a sweet voice said. An older woman was crouched on his left side. “Ambulance is coming, okay?”

“No, but–“ Steve tried again. He frowned. His head was clearing. “I need to–“

“Oh thank God,” she said, looking up just as sirens screamed. The she smiled down at him. “Ambulance is here. You’re all right.”

Steve laid back down, breath hard in his lungs. Well, here’s a new adventure.

Paramedics appeared out of nowhere and began barking orders. A yellow stretcher was rolled out while one of the EMTs pushed closer.

“Hi there,” he said, crouching to inspect Steve.

“I’m a policeman,” Steve said. “Rogers. Steve.”

“Good to know,” the EMT said roughly before waving his partner closer. “Come on, hurry!” he said sharply. “We gotta get him in the van!”

Steve frowned. Were’t they gonna check him?

“I hurt my leg,” he said helpfully. Got the wind knocked out of me.”

“There are other folks over there, too,” the older woman said.

The EMT just waved her off and yanked his partner closer. They tugged at Steve’s helmet.

“Wait,” Steve muttered, confused and dazed, “Where’s the neck brace? My neck.” Everyone knows you can’t move an accident victim’s head, especially straight from a helmet. That was in pretty much all basic training for motor vehicle accidents.

“We got you,” the first EMT said, pulling Steve’s head free. His partner had the stretcher.

“Okay,” he said, bending down, “Lift. With your legs.”

The two of them got Steve up and onto the stretcher before snapping the straps over his legs and torso. Steve shifted, his vision swimming still. _Wait_.

“What hospital are we going to?” Steve uttered, brain swirling at the motion. “I have to call someone. I gotta let my – ”

The EMT on his left scowled and pulled a mask over Steve’s face. “Hey, hey, calm down, pal. We’ll get you there.”

“No, but,” Steve frowned and tugged at the mask. Why were they giving him oxygen…it wasn’t procedure? The air inside smelled sweet. Why weren't they listening?

Lights flashed all around from the Ambulance. The EMTs were clattering the stretcher up into the ambulance as quick as they could. More sirens wailed in the distance. Where were the fire engines? The police?

Steve felt his stomach drop and he yanked the mask off his face.

“Wait. Listen! Who–“ his voice was weak, his brain fuzzy in his head.

And the doors of the vehicle slammed shut, locking him in darkness with two complete strangers instead of the expected bright lights of any regular emergency vehicle.

“Hold him!” one yelled, and Steve felt the mask being jammed over his face again. He writhed and kicked.

“I can’t!” the other voice wailed, “Fucker’s big!”

Steve could feel his right arm coming loose of the strapping. He had to get out. He had to move! _Someone, help!_

His elbow connected with something and the guy on the right wailed, thudding backwards into something. But the other guy was holding on, the mask almost cutting into Steve’s skin where the man pressed even harder. He had to breathe! Had to get free! This wasn't right! He needed to call for help...his vision blurred sharply and he knew it was too late.

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

AMERICA

* * *

 

_Monday 15:00_

 

“Dude, it’s been, like, _days_ ,” Kate griped for the umpteenth time. They were crouched on a low warehouse roof, access to which they had gained by America leaping wildly at an ancient, mostly defunct fire escape ladder. 

“If by days you mean hours, then yeah. You don’t have to watch with me,” America said, peering over the edge of the crusty brick. 

She felt Kate shuffle and huff beside her before the other girl settled. They’d come prepared: backpacks with snacks, ipods, backup chargers, their standard-issue butterfly knives, drinks and one of Clint’s oversized scarves that Kate had ‘forgotten’ to return last winter that acted as their blanket.

America was playing this by the book. They’d spent all morning traipsing after Chuck the real estate loser and yes, he did indeed have a meeting at the docks again.

However, due to their lucky hiding spot in the Indian restaurant alley, both Kate and America had overheard a chunk of the men’s conversation.

These guys were _not_ good. Talk of _bricks, tacs_ and deal _s,_ and other words used to cover up what was clearly shady business, had both girls perking up immediately.

There was something much bigger at play here. Both of them were used to this; Used to secret codewords, and finagling of materials and ploys to move stuff from one place to another in inconspicuous vessels. Hell, America knew every damn dealer in their district purely because she paid attention to the shit-talk the old folks spat out when they thought she couldn’t understand them. Kate had taught her long ago that paying attention ain’t ever hurt anyone.

So as a duo, with this info, they agreed to let Chuck go. He was small fry.

The big brutes he’d met up with though? They were something else.

And after hours of trailing them, both girls found themselves here, hunkered on some random warehouse roof, watching.

“Brutus is picking his nose,” America said. “I think. Can’t quite tell. You think we should note that?” She turned to her girlfriend.

Kate was writing in the notepad she’d brought. “No. I told you, factual, important, relevant.”

America gave a half smile. “You sure?”

Kate looked up through her dark bangs. “Yes,” she said. “You gotta remember, our word ain’t worth anything if we can’t substantiate our concerns. We’ve got good notes and times here,” she pointed at one page, “We just gotta be patient. Document, document, document.”

America grinned. Her girlfriend was so _smart_. 

“Glad I dragged you along,” America said.

Kate snorted.

America turned back to look at the goons. She’d affectionately labeled the huge bald guy in the leather jacket ‘Brutus’ and the tatted up guy with the beard ‘Dingus’.

Brutus and Dingus had some kind of regular schedule along this side of the docks. They went in and out of a small workshop, meeting random people who turned up at what looked to bescheduled appointments. Packages were exchanged and sometimes they would talk together, have a smoke. The girls’ high vantage point was great for sight-lines, but the girls couldn’t hear shit and they couldn’t risk getting closer. Both men were clearly packing heat of the searing bullet and stabby kind.

“I gotta pee,” Kate said, her back against the low brick wall.

“Go in the bushes,” America said.

“What?” Kate responded. “Are you serious?”

America turned to her. “Where’d you think I went earlier?”

“The fuck?” Kate breathed. “I thought you found some abandoned washroom in the warehouse or something.”

America shrugged, “Nope.”

Kate sighed loudly and put her notepad down on the scarf. “All right. Well, if this is the life we’ve chosen.”

“Atta girl,” America grinned and watched Kate shuffle off, back bent until she rounded the vent ducts that were being overtaken by random rooftop shrubbery.

 

—

_Monday 17:30_

 

“You think Chuck’s like a drug mule as well?” America asked. The sun was gonna set soon and they’d probably have to head home. Her abuela would worry, plus it _was_ a school night. “Old Chuckerton. That’s such a stupid name.”

“I knew a guy called Chuck in elementary school,” Kate murmured, watching over the edge of the wall. “He was nice.”

“Okay, yeah,” America said, “But you think Chuckerton needs to be followed again?”

Kate shrugged, “He seems like small fry. A front, you know?”

America made a face. She hated him on sight. No way was a small fry still gonna get out of this. 

The two girls watched Dingus and Brutus some more. They were still boring.

“Also,” Kate added on a few minutes later. “You know Chuck is short for Charles, right?”

America looked at her, “What? Not Chuckerton? That’s ridiculous.”

Kate just laughed quietly.

 

* * *

STEVE

* * *

 

_Monday16:00_

 

“Oof!” Steve grunted through the pain as another fist connected with his solar plexus. He coughed loudly, the sound echoing in the dark, cavernous room.

“Come on, then,” one of the men laughed, like this was the best thing to ever happen to him. “Cough it up.”

Steve heaved in air, feeling the throbbing not only in his torso, but all across his face.

He’d been here for hours. Woken sharply, his captors had made a real point of telling him how secure his bonds were, how no one could hear him and how excited they were to get to ‘work him over’.

The restraints they’d used (Zip ties? Wire?) were cutting into his wrists and ankles and the chair he was sitting on was too short in the leg, so his legs were bent sharply at the knee, making his back ache and his knee throb.

He gasped for air and the guy came forward and slapped him. Steve just winced, his cheeks almost numb from the repeated beatings.

His left eye was swollen and he could feel the tacky residue of blood drying down his chin and neck.

The men had been at it for ages; First, just questioning him, mocking him. In his earlier dazed state, he’d been so confused, so lost as to what had happened, but he’d pieced some of it together.

He’d been kidnapped, dragged somewhere derelict and tied to a chair against his will and now…now they just threatened him with unrelenting beatings, barking questions at him repeatedly. _What did he know about the ‘business’? Why was he snooping around? He was too stupid to know better, huh?_

They wanted him to blab. To give away what little information he had on them. 

But he wasn’t…he wasn’t gonna give them the damn satisfaction.

“You know,” goon #1 laughed through his face mask, “We never get the chance to fuck with cops. Nice change for once.”

“Yeah,” goon #2 responded, rubbing his hands together. The three of them had been pacing around Steve all this time, disorienting him.

“Where am I?” Steve breathed out again. “Why am I here?”

The three men laughed. “Ah, sugar,” #3 murmured, coming up close in the dim, dusty lighting. “We ain’t barkin’ for you. Consider this your final resting place, okay?”

Steve glared at the man, wishing he could place that voice, those eyes, this building, _anything._

A buzzing noise made all three men spin on their heels.

“The hell is that?” #1 barked. “Who brought a damn cellphone in here?”

“Not me,” #1 answered, immediately going over to Steve’s jacket and boots that they’d obviously removed while he’d been unconscious. “Fuck, fuck,” the guy hissed.

“Is that _his_ phone?” #3 all but hissed, his voice taking on a warble of fear. “I told you to check him! Bust it! now!”

Steve winced. Damnit, he’d been hoping they hadn’t found it. Fuck! That would have been his way out of this damn mess. Even if they beat him to death, at least Sam would find him. Find his body. Fuck.

This was clearly it. These guys weren’t messing around. The room they were in was unfinished concrete with curtains of clear plastic blocking off one entryway. There was barely any light to go by, only a stupid Ikea lamp on the floor beside them. Battery-charged, it seemed. God, these goons were such morons.

But Steve was tied fast to the chair and he’d been denied anything to drink or eat all day. He was definitely weakening.

Goon #1, the smallest of the three, he was fumbling with Steve’s phone. “Okay, okay, it’s off,” the kid (he sounded like a kid) said.

“No, you fuckin’ idiot,” #3 yelled, “You gotta take the battery out! They can track these fuckin’ things.”

“Even if it’s off?” #1 queried.

“Give it!” #2 snatched Steve’s phone back. He flipped it in his hands. “God damn. It’s an iphone.”

“So?” #1 asked, leaning in.

Steve would be finding this quite comical if he wasn’t sure they were actually planning to kill him.

“ _So_ , moron, you can’t just get at the battery. Ugh!” #2 lobbed the phone at the wall and Steve winced at the flimsy _crunch_ it made. Fuck.

“Do not let the boss know, if you want to keep your fucking face, idiots,” #3 groused.

The man approached Steve, bending low to press his palms to his knees. Even through the mask Steve could see the wide grin.

“This is really gonna be fun though, officer Rogers.”

Steve scowled, “Why’s that?” he asked, voice rough.

The goon chuckled, “Well, we ain’t never had the chance to off a _cop_. It’s like Christmas out here.” He stood up and rubbed his hands together. Then he sucker punched Steve, snapping Steve’s neck aside with the force of it.

Pain bloomed in his cheek and Steve’s vision swirled. He almost tipped over, the chair creaking audibly under him.

He couldn’t stop the tears. He was _so fucking angry_ but there was nothing he could do about it. His leg was in agony, tied to the chair leg at such an angle as to aggravate whatever had happened there. It was probably broken. And his face, stomach and chest had taken such a beating already. When would they stop? At what point would it change?

He was down to his black undershirt and trousers, the rest of his uniform torn and shredded by the goons in some tirade or other. They’d had a real fun time tossing his badge around like some kinda plaything.

“Boss has never asked for such a thing, you know,” goon #3 went on. “It’s a real pleasure.”

“Who’s…” Steve gasped for air. “Who’s your boss?”

All three laughed. 

“Nah, nah, you never gettin’ that!” #2 cackled.

All three of them came closer. “We’re gonna waste you,” #3 hissed. “Boss’ orders. Seems you been snooping around too much. Making the boss’ woman real anxious, you know? Askin’ questions you shouldn’t be askin’. Knowin’ things you shouldn’t know.”

“Pokin’ your nose in,” #1 added, “Nosy, nosy cop.”

“So you’re gonna tell us who gave you the info,” #2 said. “Or else we kill you.”

Steve looked at them through his swollen eye and his bloody lashes. “You just said you were gonna waste me already? So why would I tell you anything?”

#3 smacked #2 upside the head.

“Fuckin’ shut up!”

“Okay, okay,” #2 grumbled.

#3 turned to Steve again. “It’s your own damn fault,” he said. “If you hadn’t gone barkin’ up the boss’ lady’s house you probably wouldn’t be here, and with no backup neither. How dumb do you feel, asshole?”

Steve spat in his face and the guy reeled back in disgust.

“Gross!” #1 said, backing off.

#2 came close and grabbed Steve round the neck, pushing the chair onto its back legs. “You wanna be a smart mouth?” the guy hissed, digging his fingers in. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. Good. Because we’ve been itching to do this, pal.”

Steve gasped for breath.

#2 was definitely smiling. He had brown eyes. They were all caucasian. Steve was gonna track everything on these bozos.

“We’ve been given the order. And it’s a smart one,” #2 chuckled. “We get to kill a _cop_. And that is gonna _fuck_ up all your little plans to stop the boss from working. He’s gonna get away with it because there ain’t nothin’, _nothin’_ like a cop-killer on the loose. After we string your dead body out for everyone to see, they’ll get the message. They’ll all understand. And that little neighbourhood you’re so fond of protecting? It’ll be fuckin’ decimated. Ain’t no cop I know that’d let this slide. Cops are assholes already, so it’ll be easy for them to just wade in and fuck shit up. No one’s gettin’ away with anything, and _everyone_ knows who you run with. Guess what suspects they’ll dig into first? Ah, it sounds fucking awesome, pal.”

Steve glared at him, feeling his face flush painfully.

The goon let go and Steve’s chair rocked unsteadily on its feet before it did actually topple. He hit the ground on his bad shoulder and he grunted, gasping for air.

“Pick him up,” one of them barked.

Steve was yanked upright with a grunt. “Fuck, you’re heavy.”

He was righted and when his vision cleared, he saw one of them standing, hands cupped into fists, something metal glinting on his knuckles.

“Ain’t no one will find you until we’re done here,” the goon said darkly.

 

* * *

BUCKY

* * *

 

_Monday 19:00_

 

The police station was large, oversized even.

Bucky chewed his lip as he looked up at its white façade. “Well, here we go,” he muttered.

At least he had an idea where Steve’s desk was. Being pulled in for that dumb fight all that long ago gave Bucky a good idea of the office layout. Times had changed, and so had the precinct.

It was so different compared to Bucky’s youth.

Not that he wasn’t down here every few months to take _someone_ home and help get lawyers to the right folks, but still, the place gave him the heebs.

It was busy, with people bustling around. A man could be heard yelling an alarming array of profanities in the lobby.

He hit the staircase and made his way to the second floor.

It was fucking _full_ of cops in uniform. Ugh. It really got his hackles rising. No one paid him any attention until he swung right through the bullpen gate.

“Hey,” A pear-shaped cop said, “You lookin’ for someone?”

Bucky recognized the tone. It was the whole ‘hey riff-raff we know who you are’.

“Looking for Officer Rogers,” Bucky said gruffly.

“Rogers?” The guy waved his hand at that. “All right, he should be round the left there,” and turned back to whatever disgusting lunch he had slathered down his shirt.

Well, at least Bucky knew it wasn’t _just_ the uniform that had him hooking up with Steve all the time.

He’d had all morning to fume over their argument the night before. His co-workers had had the pleasure of being around a very angry and discombobulated Bucky. Delaney had asked him no less than three times to stop throwing his tools around.

Steve was infuriating! He was demanding and pushy and so annoying. Who did he think he was, demanding shit, and expecting Bucky to be more than he already was!

Butdamnit, he was getting in Bucky’s head too.

And his ass was beyond addictive, if Bucky was honest. Let’s be real, that was the real culprit in all of this.

He’d lain awake all night thinking about how mad the man was, how absolutely frustrating he could be. How dare _he_ be so rude like that? Come in all cocky and angry and basically ready for a fight. It was terrible.

And so here he was, doing something so unlike his normal routine. Fine, if Rogers was going to avoid him, or never see him again...or whatever, Bucky was gonna have to seek him out to chew him out. No one gets to leave Bucky behind for no damn good reason, spectacular ass or not.

“Oh, Mister Barnes!” a voice startled him and he actually jumped.

The pretty woman with the blonde hair, the wannabe detective, she smiled at him from beside a massive copier that was chugging out some paper.

“Uh,” Bucky said eloquently.

“Karen Page,” she said, figuring him out already. “We met before?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky nodded awkwardly, hands jammed in his jacket pockets. “Hi.”

He tried to sort of eke past her without being obvious about not wanting to converse, or play polite.

“Barnes?” and that voice made Bucky look up. It was Steve’s partner. 

Sam Wilson was seated at a frankly overflowing desk piled high with paper. Wilson was frowning at Bucky. “Oh, finally, so you brought him in finally?”

Bucky walked over, eyeing what was probably Steve’s desk nearby. Then he refocused on Sam.

“Where is he?” he asked. “I need to talk to him.” _I need to yell at him._

“What?” Sam said, “No, man, I’m asking _you_ that.”

Bucky blinked. “He’s not here? But I checked his house and his bike’s not there.”

Miss Page came over, her arms laden with documents to put on Sam’s desk. “Steve? He’s not answering his phone?”

“Nah,” Sam shook his head. He glanced at Bucky. “He answered you?”

Fuck, Bucky didn’t even think to call him. He pulled out his cellphone and glared at the empty notification center. He’d finally exchanged numbers with the dork, but their dealings were always face-to-face so he never even thought…

“So he’s not here?” Bucky sighed, “Where’s he gonna be? Ain’t he supposed to be working double shift?”

“Barnes,” Sam said sternly, “You saying you got no idea?”

Bucky shook his head and frowned, “Why would I know?”

Sam gave him such a _look_ that Bucky squirmed a little.

“Hold on, so we don’t know where he _is?_ ” Karen said. “Is he on a case?”

Sam frowned to match, “He didn’t say he was doing anything, at least not until we got our bases covered.” He glanced awkwardly at Bucky because _duh_ no cop business was _his_ business.

“Calm your tits,” Bucky griped, “I’m not here to horn in on your damn work. I just needed to talk to him about…something else.”

Karen’s mouth opened and closed. “It’s not like Steve to not call in. Is he home sick?”

“Apparently not,” Sam just waved a hand at Bucky as explanation.

“Well,” Karen fretted, “Now I’m kinda worried. Can we trace the cruiser?”

“It’s in the lot,” Sam said, “I had it this morning.” Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Okay, so he’s a big man. We know adults can go wherever they please, however they please. And with whomever they please.” Sam eyed Bucky from under his frankly skeptically rude eyebrows.

“Don’t gimme that look,” Bucky grunted. “I ain’t got any clue where he is. Fuck. I might as well go then.” He didn’t want to answer any invasive questions about when or where he might have seen Steve, because the answer ‘at my house round midnight’ would open up _way_ too many questions.

He glanced at Steve’s desk, and sure enough there was a mug on there with the slogan ‘sweet like dynamite’ on the side. He recalled Steve laughing about it or something. Some kinda birthday gift the squad had given him.

“Can I leave a note, or somethin’?” he groused, looking for a post-it or something.

“Is it official police business? You leaving information on something? Or is it more the love note variety?” Sam said acidly.

Bucky turned and glared right back. “You’re a real peach, huh?” he said.

“It if ain’t official business,” Sam shrugged, “You can text him or whatever you two do to communicate. Smoke signals.”

Karen was just standing there, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Okay, okay, knives down, boys,” she inserted herself. “Look, it’s not Steve’s thing to do stuff like this. If anyone plays by the book, it’d be him. Before you go,” she put a hand on Bucky’s elbow, “Can we just quickly find out where’s he’s got to? Then my heart will rest easy.”

Bucky figured Steve was off somewhere moping.

Typical, really.

He just grunted in response, and sat on the edge of Steve’s desk. “Fine, but I gotta get going soon.”

 

* * *

AMERICA

* * *

 

_Monday 19:00_

 

“Hey, hey,” America slapped Kate’s arm. “Look, look, look.”

“What?” Kate whined and shifted, turning so she could see across the street.

“A truck just rolled up,” America hissed, fumbling to get her phone out. Kate’s phone was already maxed out on photos and videos, so it was just America’s left. After this she was considering buying some cloud drive space or some shit. Investigating is serious business after all.

“What’s on the back of that thing?” Kate whispered, hunkered low beside America. It was getting real damn cold.

“Dunno,” America squinted, her phone’s focus bubbling in and out. “Bad angle.”

The two of them watched a couple guys get out the front and start yammering at Brutus and Dingus. It was gonna be full dark soon, so America could only see whatever the truck’s lamps would show them.

The men were arguing, arms waving. Dingus headed into the workshop and Brutus helped the other two heave a massive…thing off the bed of the truck.

“Damnit, I can’t see what that is…” America griped.

“Tap here,” Kate leaned over and tapped the dark area on America’s phone screen where the guys were moving. The camera adjusted and … there, a little better.

“You recording?” Kate asked.

“Yeah,” America was barely breathing. “Hey, that ain’t drugs.”

Kate was silent watching the men argue loudly. Whatever it was had wheels and they where wheeling it closer to the water.

The truck’s light glinted off the side and America squinted.

“Is that…” she breathed.

“A motorcycle,” Kate said.

America did her best to zoom her phone in.

Dingus reappeared with something heavy in his hands. Within minutes, the girls realized it was a chainsaw of some monstrous sort. The roar of it going had them flinching. No one was around, not in _this_ neighbourhood at this hour, so the men obviously felt safe enough to fucking chainsaw shit out in the open. For the first moment in a long while, America realized that if they were caught now … hell.

“They’re chopping it up?” Kate said. Sparks started to fly and an unearthly shrieking had both girls squint.

Seems the men were having trouble. The truck guys were barking orders and Brutus was yelling right back.

The only words America caught were, “Boss says now!”

That seemed to shut Brutus up. He helped Dingus heave the bike into some kinda more stable position on its side probably so sparks didn’t rain down on everyone. What idiots. 

“What you think they’re up to?” Kate asked.

“Well, they’re cutting it up?”

“But why?” Kate pondered.

They watched the two men shear the machine into large pieces. Why they weren’t just dismantling it and selling the parts was beyond America.

“Holy crap…” Kate hissed and America’s eyes widened.

“They’re dumping it in the water?”

And so the men were. All four took great pains to heave the six or so mangled parts over to the dock’s edge. America knew it would definitely be deep enough and dark enough down there to do this. 

“This is real bad,” Kate said, “Feels wrong.”

“Yeah,” America shifted her phone, aiming to get a good shot of the men. It was taking them forever, seeing as the bike was so damn heavy. The splashes weren’t very spectacular and the parts just disappeared into the black gloom. 

The biggest and final part was the main body. As the men laid it down, the light from the truck lit up the fuel tank perfectly and America’s heart dropped into her gut.

“Kate,” she breathed harshly. “What colour is that bike?”

“Uhm,” Kate pulled out her own phone and switched on the camera, just to zoom in closer. “It’s, uh, blue. Like, sky blue. With, like, a white line through it.”

“Like a scratch?” America asked.

“Yeah, yeah, actually,” Kate said. “Looks like it got right down to the metal. Wait, is that a Harley?” Kate paused, blinked, then looked at America, her eyes widening with realization.

“Holy fuck,” America breathed, her hands shaking, “Is that _Steve’s_ bike?”

“What? _What?”_ Kate started to shake. “What does that mean?”

“Shhh!” America hissed, “They’re arguing!”

She needed to hear what they were saying. What the hell was going on? How was Steve’s bike here?

“Not up for debate!” truck guy number one barked. “Boss says get rid of it. Owner’s gettin’ burned _tonight_. Usual fashion. You don’t wanna be the guys who left this little memento lying outside for the cops to find.”

He was walking up to the truck cab which was marginally closer to the girls. Both of them dropped as low as they could. 

America could hear Kate’s breathing.

“Shit shit shit,” America hissed. They heard the truck’s engine rumble to life.

“What does that _mean?_ ” Kate asked. “America! We gotta do something!”

America peered over the edge. The truck was clearing out, leaving Dingus and Brutus to carry out their job of dismembering what was once a beautifully restored Harley Davidson.

“Message the crew,” America said, brows furrowing even as terror gripped her.

Kate tapped at her own phone, quickly pulling up their group Whatsapp chat. “What do I say?”

“Tell ‘em to find Bucky.”

“But–“ Kate said.

“Find out if he’s on call tonight! We gotta find him ASAP.” _He’ll know what to do._

“Shit–“ Kate tapped out a message.

“Don’t tell the crew everything,” America breathed, lifting her own phone. She tapped at her own screen. “We gotta skedaddle,” and she hastily grabbed at her backpack, jamming what was in reach into its depths.

“Fuck, fuck,” Kate was tapping away at her phone.

“Let’s go!” America snatched the scarf andthrew it over her shoulder.

Kate stumbled to her feet and the two of them made a run for it.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

  _BUCKY_

* * *

 

_Monday 19:15_

 

“I don't know!” Bucky barked.

“Well why not?” Sam responded.

“He’s _your_ partner,” Bucky said right back.

“I thought you were, like, his best friend?” Sam said, getting up and coming round.

“Ain’t it you?” Bucky said. “I thought it was you.”

“Gentlemen!" Karen said, glancing up over her monitor. “Keep it down. Or did you forget we work in a police station?

Bucky rubbed at his eye. He’d just come here to yell at Steve and now what? He’d gone on some jaunt somewhere and Bucky was being roped into a petty squabble with a damn cop.

He pushed off from Steve’s desk and sighed. “Right, well, I’m done here–“

A barrage of voices rang out round the corner.

“Hey! You kids! HEY!” someone yelled. Footsteps thundered and Teddy Altman and Billy Kaplan came careening round and into the desk area of Steve’s squad.

“Bucky!” they both yelled, loud as hell.

Bucky blinked, surprised out of his annoyance. 

“Bucky! We’ve been looking for you! Why ain’t you answering your phone!” Billy barked, coming over. Both boys looked frantic, eyes wide.

“Huh?” Bucky pulled out his phone but was distracted by them getting in his space before he could look at it.

“It’s America!” Teddy said.

“And Kate!” Billy added, just as loud. 

Bucky frowned and stood tall. “What? What happened?”

“No, no, they saw somethin’!” Billy blabbered. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, his phone in his other hand.

“Somethin’ bad!” Teddy hissed, eyeing Sam, who was definitely listening in.

“What?” Bucky said, putting a hand on each boy’s shoulders. “Breathe.”

“They were by the docks and and and, they said they saw Steve’s bike.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “His bike? His motorcycle? What?”

“They said some guys had it, they were, um, they were chopping it up, or something.”

“They _what?_ ” Bucky said, heart thudding to a stop. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Karen came in, “Did I just hear that?”

“Hey, hey, no,” Billy said, frowning, quick as can be.

“This is private,” Teddy stuttered.

“Where was this?” Bucky pressed. “Teddy, tell me!”

“Down by the docks somewhere,” Teddy said with those mournful big eyes of his.

“Where?” Karen said.

“You deaf?” Billy turned to her.

“Excuse me,” Sam butted in. “Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Shoot, I said I’d message them when we found you,” Teddy hissed and pulled out his cellphone.

“Where the _hell_ is Steve?” Bucky barked, turning to Sam. “What’s going on? Why don’t you know where he is?!”

“We don’t know that it’s–that these kids–“ Sam began, hands up, placating.

Bucky got in his face, “They wouldn’t lie about something like this,” he said through gritted teeth, daring Sam to say another word against the teenagers. 

“Hey, calm it,” Sam said, voice level. How was he so chill all the time? Steve said that about his partner all the live long day. Bucky’s stomach dropped. _Steve. Why hadn’t he fuckin’_ called _Steve?_

Bucky lifted his own phone and tapped it. “Shit,” he hissed.

Five missed calls. All from America. _Shit shit shit!_

Before he could even call her back, more bellows rang out from the main bullpen.

America and Kate came skidding round the corner, a few cops hot on their heels.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam got up. “They’re good, they’re with us,” he said to the three policemen that had followed the teens in. The three burly men were deeply ruffled, apparently, by the presence of such insolence.

“Where were you!” America cried, storming up to Bucky, her hair wild and messy, her voice shrill. “I _called! I fuckin’_ called you!” She came right up to him and slammed her palms against his chest, pushing hard. “The fuck is _wrong_ with you!” Her eyes were wide, wet and terrified. She punched him as hard as she could in the chest, but he barely moved. “You always said for me to call! And you didn’t fuckin’ _answer!”_

“Hey,” Kate pulled at America, “Come on.”

“America…” Bucky’s gaze softened, seeing her like this, though his heart hammered louder. “Hey.” God, he felt like a piece of shit. “What’s happened?”

“They got Steve’s motorcycle,” Kate cut in. “Down by the docks, we saw them.”

“Who?” Bucky said, as America turned to whip her backpack down.

“We don’t know them. Guys. They were working with Chuck.”

“Chuck?” Bucky asked.

“The fuckin’ real estate loser!” America cried, standing up. “We followed him to them and then stuck around all day and then this truck shows up and it’s Steve’s bike–“

“How do you know it was Steve’s?” Bucky said, voice breaking a little at the thought. He had to stay calm. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding.

“It’s got the scratch on the fuel tank! Remember the one from the gas station shooting? When that fucker who shot you’s bullet went wide?”

“Excuse me,” Sam pushed in between the three of them. “Look, listen, I need you to slow down. We can’t go running around with false information. I need you to sit down–”

“It’s Steve! Steve Rogers! Your fucking partner!” America bellowed, “He’s in trouble!”

“You got something to prove that?” Sam said, though Bucky could see Karen running to her computer. This was serious. People were looking up from their desks, heads were appearing round corners.

“Try this,” America said, and thrust her phone in Sam’s face, “ _Officer.”_

The phone was playing a video and both Sam and Bucky were transfixed. Bucky’s eyes widened as he watched.

“Here, mine too,” Kate held up her phone.

Bucky’s breath stopped. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “America. What the fuck.”

“They said they’re gonna burn the owner!” she cried, “They said their boss does it all the time! They’re gonna kill Steve!”

“Fuck!” Sam snapped and made a run down the hallway. He barked orders at someone, maybe a few someones.

“Where is he, America?” Bucky gripped her shoulders. “Where’s Steve?”

“I don’t know!” she wailed, “They just said they’re gonna do it in the usual way.”

“And they said burn?” Bucky asked, his heart rate ratcheting up.

She nodded, eyes wide.

“Hey,” Bucky looked over at the woman, “Karen, right? You gotta find him!”

“Yeah,” Billy turned, “Track his phone! They do that on CSI, right? You call the phone company, or whatever!”

Sam reappeared, barking orders into his radio.

“You,” he pointed to America and Kate, “Don’t leave the premises.” He walked over to Karen, who was furiously ticking away on her keyboard. “Can you get a trace on his phone?” he said, taking control.

“I’ve put the request into cyber but it’s gonna take a while, you know that,” She looked up at Sam with wide, but determined eyes.

“We don’t have time!” Kate said loudly. “They’re destroying evidence!”

“Ok, show me where they dumped the bike,” Sam said, standing up. “Oi! Danny, here!”

Danny Rand came running at top speed, “Yes, sir?” he gasped.

“Kate here, she’s going to show you where the truck was, where the bike’s gone. Kate, please?”

She nodded sternly, glanced at America, and followed Danny down the hall.

“Right, we’re sending units out for that. I’ve put the call into Hill for high alert,” Sam said, coming around Karen’s desk, “We’re going to find him, and we’re going to get these motherfuckers.”

Sam sounded so deadly serious, even Billy’s brows rose.

“How long’s he been gone?” Teddy asked.

Bucky swallowed and caught Sam’s eyes.

“A whole day?” Sam asked.

“Almost,” Bucky breathed out, ashamed. Almost an entire day and everyone knew the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours were critical.

“But how long we gotta wait?” America said, “Bucky! Where are you going?” she wailed.

“To the fire station,” he said, face pale, “They’ll need me.”

“It might only be an hour,” Karen chewed her lip.

“That’s not soon enough,” Bucky said harshly. “Steve’s phone, it’s not responding.”

“Is he–“ Teddy swallowed.

“Maybe the battery’s dead?” Billy suggested.

“Wait!” America yelled, very, _very_ loudly. “We don’t need CSI or whoever! _We_ can trace his phone!”

“What?” Sam said.

“You’re right!” Billy cried. “If he’s got his GPS on.”

“But his phone goes directly to voicemail,” Bucky said, not understanding this at all.

“No, look,” America said, “If he’s smart, and we know Steve, he’s super smart, he probably has his location active, always.”

“And? How’s that gonna help?”

“Does anyone know his apple ID? He’s got one of the new iphones, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. He remembers this only because Steve got one of the weird pinkish ones because it was cheaper than the others.

“You know any of his passwords?”

Sam and Bucky looked at one another, expecting the other man to have a response.

“No,” they both murmured, stricken.

“Fuck, _really?”_ America rubbed at her face. She paced around. “There’s gotta be a way.”

Then she stopped, eyes widening.

Bucky was itching to run out the door, get to the fire station and prepare for this. What the fuck was happening?

“Wait,” America put her hands up. “If he’s smart to do tracking, maybe he set up the track friends, or whatever app.”

Billy squinted, “You mean, like, he would give permission to someone to access his location?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam shook his head. 

America’s mouth was a grim line, “You can set up a way that some folks can always locate you. Like parents who wanna see where their kids are.”

“Does anyone have that?” Sam looked around. Bucky looked _just_ as flummoxed.

“America, we don’t have time for this,” Bucky said, his heart thundering in his ears. _Steve’s in danger!_

“No, you don’t gotta know about it!” Billy shouted. He turned to America. “Steve. He’d probably pick someone. Set it up himself. Someone he trusts.”

America nodded, “Someone he’d want to find him if something like this ever happened. A really big emergency. Someone important.”

She twisted, and thrust out her hand.

Bucky stared down at it.

“Gimme your phone,” she said.

Bucky’s mouth flapped, but he swallowed, and did as he was told.

She tapped all over the screen, clearly frustrated with the way he’d organized his apps.

“Jesus fuck, where is it.”

“There!” Billy whooped, pointing over her shoulder.

Bucky and Sam converged, trying to get a look too.

America opened up some app.“Okay, breathe,” she uttered, hands shaking. “His phone signal might be cut, but maybe the–“

A map bleeped to life. “Oh my God!” She shrieked and Billy pulled at his own hair. “He’s there! His phone’s alive!”

“Address!” Sam barked. He also looked absolutely gobsmacked, like truly impressed.

“Where?!” Bucky gasped out, never, ever more proud of her than at this very moment.

“The Navy Yard!” America said. “They’ve got him at the Navy Yard!” 

Bucky stared, wide-eyed. “You…” he breathed, grabbing her close to him, hugging the life out of her. “You’re amazing.”

“Can I?” Sam reached for the phone and Bucky grabbed at it first, pulling away from America to glare. 

“You ain’t taking this unless I’m with you,” he growled.

Sam looked like he was gonna throw a punch. Then he breathed in slowly.

“Fine. But the Fire Station’s gonna need you too. We’ll head that way.” He turned, “Karen, please fire off this address to the whole squad. All officers, ten thirty-three. Leaving immediately.”

He listed the address, all while holding the hand Bucky gripped the phone with, like some weird tug-of-war. Because _technically_ , Sam would have no right to Bucky’s phone.

“What about warrants?” Karen said loudly.

“Get them!” Sam yelled, “I don’t care if you gotta knock down doors. Call the commissioner. Call the damn president. Steve goddamn Rogers is in trouble. Immediate assistance required. Come on Barnes,” Sam barked, grabbing his own jacket, “We’re already out of time.”

 

* * *

STEVE

* * *

 

 

The air was dusty, and it felt like his whole throat was closing up.

For the fifth time, he was being dragged upright, blood streaming down his lips. He could barely see in the darkness.

Goon #3 was standing there, watching him, like some kind of boorish sentinel.

“You fuckin’ idiot,” the guy said, shaking his head and stretching his bruised fingers. “If you’da just spilled the beans, maybe it wouldn’t a come to this.”

Steve sucked in air harshly, his nose blocked, his mouth tacky with blood and saliva. 

“F…fuck you,” he blurted, head falling forward. 

“That all you got left?” the guy said.

Steve pulled his head upright. He was dehydrated, in agony and beyond hoping for anyone to save the day. “And the horse you rode in on,” he said dryly, spitting blood.

The goon shook his head.

Footsteps echoed.

Steve wasn’t sure if he just wanted this to be over. He still had some fight in him, but not much.

“What…” a deep, booming voice said. A large, massive man in a crisp white suit came out of the shadows of the plastic-sheet-covered doorway. “…Is that smell?”

“Uh, hey boss,” the goon stood to attention. Steve’s head lolled, but he still glared up at the stranger. “He, uh, pissed himself.”

The big man frowned with distaste. “Hmm, understandable, I suppose. Confinement can do that, can’t it, officer Rogers?”

Steve lifted his head even though it felt like a lead ton. “You’re…” he breathed, struggling. The air was dusty, chalky. “Wilson Fisk.” he finished. He’d found photos of the guy when he’d been researching the developer corporation. The multimillionaire who always kept his hands clean, had a meticulous history and nothing bad lingering around him. Suspicious, but not overtly so.

The big man paused and raised a brow. “My, you really are that good, aren’t you?”

“We-we didn’t say nothin’,” the goon said.

Fisk turned and glared at the man. “How about you head out now, hm? You’re in my way. Go help the boys, ah…finish up, why don’t you?”

The goon nodded fervently and backed out the way Fisk had come.

Steve watched the large man with his one good eye. This was the boss. The real one.

“They really have done a number on you, haven’t they?” Fisk said, walking slowly towards Steve. “Mmm, such brutes, these thugs for hire.”

Steve didn’t say a thing.

“And yet you held your composure,” Fisk went on. “Quite admirable. You really are the star law enforcement officer, aren’t you? I didn’t think the Brooklyn Police Department shelled out for torture training.”

“What do you want?” Steve said harshly. The air seemed heavier.

“Hmm,” Fisk walked around him. “I can’t have you sniffing about. I know you have been, you see, for quite some time. Only, I didn’t think you were actually stupid enough to contact anyone I care about. The plebes I pay, certainly, but not my Vanessa.”

Steve didn’t say anything about how he had no idea Fisk was involved in this. He should have known.

“You’re the one trying to buy the burnt out buildings. You–“ Steve’s head throbbed. He was so thirsty. “You set the fire, didn’t you?”

“Ah, you see, the details. I personally had nothing to do with any of that,” Fisk murmured, coming back around.“I’m trying to do good, you see, officer Rogers. Real good. I’m very much like you. I grew up deathly poor. Abusive father, struggling mother, the whole thing. But I never faltered. I never gave up. And now, I’m trying to _give_ back.” He actually smiled.

Steve felt sick.

“You think…you think you’re a hero?” Steve said.

“Oh, not yet, no,” Fisk murmured. “But soon, perhaps. Once all my developments are up and running, why certainly. I’m going to uplift these shoddy neighbourhoods. I’m going to drag them into the twenty-first century and by God, will people thank me for it.”

“And you get to profit off others’ losses?”

Fisk turned and frowned. “Oh you _are_ negative. No, you fool. I’m making it _better._ I’m fixing it.”

He lowered his face to Steve’s level and smiled. “How is that any different to what _you’re_ doing?” 

Steve glared at the repulsive face in front of him.

“It’s not the same,” Steve uttered. 

“Oh?” Fisk cocked a brow at that. “Do elaborate. Please. Though we don’t have much time. My boys should have set the starters already.”

Steve swallowed.

Fine. 

If this was it. _Fine_.

“We’re not the same because I don’t think the neighbourhoods need to change. You don’t get it. You’re just a money-grubbing asshole who’s a damn control freak who can’t handle it when he doesn’t get stuff his own way. Like a child.”

Fisk’s cheek twitched and all humour fell from his face.

His eyes darkened and he stood up.

“Officer Rogers, you do understand where you are? You are in the basement of aderelict building set to go up in flames, in… oh, maybe ten minutes. I don’t think you want to mock about control issues at such a pivotal point in your meagre existence.”

Steve glared up at him, every joint in his legs aching, the cuts at his wrists stinging.

“Hmmm,” Fisk walked away, then turned. “I’m rather glad we got the time to have this chat. I thought it a nice touch, you meeting me, us talking for a moment. You really are something. Pity you won’t be able to do much about anything ever again.”

“You’re fucked,” Steve spat. “You think my team isn’t gonna figure you out? You think they don’t know where I am, or what I know? You’re _fucked_.” He said this with such viciousness, it seemed unreal. 

“No,” Fisk said calmly, tugging at his suit cuffs. “I’m afraid you’ve got that backwards.”

A rustling sound made Fisk turn and goon #1 appeared, shaking like a leaf. “All good, boss,” he said. “Charges are set. Fire’s going.”

“Excellent,” Fisk said, then turned, “Well, I have to go now. Wouldn’t want to get caught in this. Maybe next time you won’t be so stupid as try to protect anyone ever again, officer Rogers.” And then the bastard laughed at his own joke before leaving, the plastic sheeting falling back into place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Xmas! Or whatever!
> 
> Here, have the shortest chapter, then it's back to the rest!

* * *

BUCKY

* * *

 

Sam was leading the pack, his siren blasting. Bucky was glad to be in the correct vehicle. Even though his heart wouldn't stop freaking out, he knew they were on the way.

The traffic cleared easily, cars swerving out of the way, and they swept through the city, heading to the spot on the map where the dot pulsed on his screen.

It was insane. Bucky stared at his phone. Right where that dot hovered was Steve’s picture because he was one of those dorks in the world who uploads his photo onto his account. A blonde, blue-eyed, smiling face looked back at Bucky, and he felt sick to his stomach.

He jumped when the phone began to ring.

“Oh, it’s Thor,” he said, hastily swiping at it. “Hello?”

“Barnes,” came Thor’s voice, heavily muffled by the sirens in the background. “You are not with us. You are on call, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” Buckynodded. “I’m with the police, on the way to the Navy yard.” His voice was strangely calm, even though he felt like he was about to explode. Sam gave him a look and pointedly did not take the next turn towards the fire station.

“Ah,” Thor murmured. The noise wherever he was was really making it hard for Bucky to hear him. “Then I will bring an extra uniform.” Thor’s voice faded. “Val! Grab an extra set! Yes!Whichever! Thank you!” then his voice came back on the line. “Wagons four and five have already left. We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, good, thanks, bye,” Bucky hastened to finish the call, not caring if he sounded rude.

He pulled up the map again.

Steve’s dot blipped up at him.

“Jesus, this traffic,” Sam groused and leaned out the window. “Move! Stay right!” he waved at an idiot in a convertible. Who the fuck drove convertibles this early in the season? They swerved around the idiot and the parade of cruisers screamed onwards.

Bucky chewed his lip.

He’d fucked up so royally, it was never going to be okay. If he’d…if Steve hadn’t left… if Bucky had been civil, if he’d been more grown-up, maybe this wouldn’t be happening right now.

“Fuck, here we go,” Sam yanked the steering wheel hard as they turned down a street, closer, the rear tires trundling over the sidewalk. Bucky held on, jostling about on the seat Steve should’ve been sitting in.

They got stopped at a gate and a security kid got a real earful from Sam about _police business, open up! NOW!_

Bucky looked away for one second then back down at his phone.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Wait, the signal! It’s gone!” Fuck! Was the signal bad? Was Steve’s phone officially fried? What if he–

“What?” Sam didn’t have time to glance over, he just drove onwards and into the wide open space reserved for the many shipyard organizations and workers. The setting sun cast an orange glow across the whole place. It was a massive area to work across. Sam twisted and the tires squealed, jolting to a shuddery stop near the first brick and glass building.

“What?” he said again, turning to Bucky. His radio was squawking loudly. More police cars careened into the shipyard, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

“The dot! Steve’s phone! I can’t find it!” Bucky barked, immediately slamming his palm into the door to open it. “Fuck!” Sam followed him up and out.

“Okay, calm down,” Sam paced back to his fellow officers. “Spread out! We need to find where they might be keeping him!”

A fire truck blared its way into the shipyard, firemen already spilling from its doors like ants from an anthill.

“Captain Hill!” Sam called. “This is your moment.”

“Damnit!” Bucky yelled, turning. Rows upon rows of rusty brown buildings and docks were spread out around them. They were never going to find him in time!

“Barnes! Hey, Barnes!” 

Bucky turned and came face-to-face with Captain Maria Hill of the FDNY. “Where’s your uniform?” she barked, already head-to-toe in her own navy and yellow.

“My…?” He blinked. “Uh, Thor’s bringing it.”

Hill eyed him, “Okay, so why the hell are you just standing there? Get on it.”

“Captain,” Sam came up to them, “We’re looking for–“

“I heard,” Hill muttered, barking orders to her own team. “Search and discover teams. Go! Cordon off the area, we don’t want an civilians getting in here. Hey, those workers, get them handled. Nobody leaves here without officer Wilson’s say-so.” She pointed to some dock workers who were working late.

“Right,” Sam was saying to his team of officers. “We don’t know which building yet, we just–“ Sam said.

A sudden _boom_ had them all turning, rocking on their feet. Bucky’s heart stopped in his chest as a huge ball of fire lit the air, a massive plume of smoke billowing free at the end of the dock.

“Steve!” Bucky bellowed, frozen where he stood. 

“Go, go, go!” Hill yelled and one of the fire trucks howled into action. Hoses were being dragged, searching out the connectors, the hydrants.

“That wasn’t a bomb,” Thor barked. “Slightly better.”

“Let me go!” Bucky grunted, pushing at Sam’s hands that had somehow gotten ahold of his sleeves.

“No, Barnes, you need to get your kit. Follow orders. Procedure! Look at me!” Bucky stared at Sam. “If you can’t work this as a professional, as a team, you can’t be here,” Sam said harshly.He was breathing hard, sweat covering his skin. But he was staying calm. “We don’t just got a fire on our hands, we got criminals who’ll try to flee. You gotta play your part while my team plays theirs. You can’t do this with a hot head. Be safe, be damn logical. _Or get out._ ”

Firemen ran past and sirens wailed louder as another fire engine appeared, spilling out yet more fire fighters. Bucky's ears were ringing and he wavered. He'd trained for this. Steve needed him.  _Steve._

“Okay, okay,” Bucky nodded, heart thundering in his chest, and turned. Thor was here. Valkyrie, the whole crew. He was a volunteer firefighter, damnit. He would _die_ before being denied the chance to help.

 

* * *

STEVE

* * *

When he was young, he’d always thought that dying by fire was way worse than drowning. One of those ‘would you rather’ examples kids were so fond of. But he knew better now. It was never the fire and the flames that got you. It wasn’t the heat, or the crumbling building. It was the smoke, it was the noxious gases. You’d pass out, asphyxiate before even a lick of flame would find your body. And when the flames abated and the crews could get in, all they’d find was bones and ash. Maybe some teeth.

And the noise. God, the noise, it was like thunder.

Wherever the main blast had gone down, it wasn’t directly above Steve, or below. But it was close. 

He rolled, pushed the chair so it would topple him. At least at ground level he’d have a chance of better air. A greater chance of living longer…but no hope. Not really.

He was too weak to struggle. The ties they’d used… god… they’d cut into his wrists so bad it was like an hot wire against his skin.

He kicked out again. And again. The chair creaked loudly. He had nothing left.

It was getting light. That meant the fire was close. Shadows waved across the walls and currents of heat flowed ever closer. A loud rumble echoed through the floor, shaking dust free from the ceiling.

“Fuck, come _on_ ,” he winced, twisting madly.

He heard an audible snap and the front leg of the chair broke free. Flimsy wooden crap. He gasped, coughing. His shirt was soaked with sweat and blood and his pants...well. 

With his free foot, he scrabbled at his other leg, again trying to wiggle the leg loose. He wasn’t wearing his damn boots, just sweat-soaked socks. “ _Come on_ ,” he whimpered, eyes wet, throat hoarse. The dust pressed into his bloody, injured cheek. His shoulder was aching so bad and his free leg…it wasn’t doing much. He couldn’t roll over.

Fuck, it was getting so hot. Smoke was billowing in, pushing at the plastic sheeting. 

Steve took short, sharp breaths and tried to calm himself.

He was going to die.

He wasn’t going to get out.

He wasn’t going to get home, get to work. See Sam, or Danny and Karen. He was going to be a damn statistic. He choked back a sob, gritting his teeth, wet tears falling to the concrete. _Damnit!_

He wasn’t going to be able to tell them who did this and then those goons would get away with it. Fisk would somehow get off scot free. The system was corrupt enough as it was without his death pointing fingers at the wrong people. Hot ashy smoke made him cough and gag. It billowed and bloomed, blocking out everything. Another danger was the air lighting up. It was so hot, he could feel himself burning just from the proximity of such pressurized, hot air.

His vision blurred and he stopped struggling. His muscles were too sore to work anymore. He wasn’t going to make it.

Fuck.

This was it.

Sarah Rogers’ only son, dead before thirty-five, leaving nothing of record behind. Alone and beaten and with too many regrets.

He wasn’t going to see Bucky and tell him he was sorry; Tell him he hadn’t meant it. Tell him that he’d take Bucky any way he could have him. Anything. Anything at all. God, what a shitty way to go. Why’d he been so stupid? Why’d he gotten himself into this? Fuckin’ useless police officer. He was so selfish, so stupid! So insecure! Look how important all that insecurity was now. It was nothing. 

Bucky was right. It wasn’t worth it if the system was just going to break them all over again. Bucky probably understood better. Steve was foolish and now he wouldn’t get to see him again. Wouldn’t get to hug him, or kiss him or fall asleep on the sofa with him…

He was fading. He also knew from training that sometimes it was just the carbon monoxide. That was how it was probably going. He was so very tired, thirsty, his breathing was laboured and he could…barely see.

A flash of light. Fuck, the fire was probably closer than he thought. He was too exhausted.

More light. 

Over the thundering of the building, the flames, the creaking of burning concrete and wood, he heard something else.

Hollow voices.

He blinked, but couldn’t focus.

Boots. Sounds. Yelling, muffled yelling.

“Help,” he tried to say, but his lips couldn’t move. They were cracked and dry. He coughed and coughed, not having anything to cover his face. He tucked his head to his chest, into his shoulder pressed to concrete. He couldn’t get air. He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

Aliens. Faceless monsters had come. He really was dying.

The voices spoke fast and something touched his arm, his elbow, his wrists.

He heard his name. “Steve!” 

“Officer Rogers.”

“ _Steve!”_

His hands and leg fell free suddenly, tender and cold at the same time, and he collapsed properly, the hot concrete scratching, burning his skin. He was being moved, shoved. Death was coming to take him away, he supposed. 

“I’ve got–I’ve got you,” a voice said. Steve couldn’t see anything. Something was pressing to his face and all around him. Enveloping him. “Sweet Jesus,” the alien said and Steve wanted to smile.

“I’ve got you, baby, come on,” it said, voice gentle, wavering. Was the alien scared? And for a moment, Steve felt like even death wasn’t as scary as he’d thought. Maybe this was a blessing after all. Everything was done and over. _He’d lived a good life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( I apologize to any Brooklynites. i know nothing of your fine city. i made shit up. )


	5. Chapter 5 - complete

Some damn thing wouldn’t shut up. His alarm?

He pushed his hand out, but it hit something. He grumbled, confused.

God, his head was aching. The thing kept beeping.

He cracked his eyes open. It was dark.He blinked slowly, groggily. This wasn’t his bedroom.

He turned, then winced as a throb of pain radiated through his cheek. There were rails on his bed and a tube attached to the back of his hand.

“Oh God,” he croaked, and immediately regretted it.

A woman peeked in, between the open curtain.

“Oh, Officer Rogers,” she said gently, coming closer. “You’re awake.” She smiled softly and her voice was soothing, her eyes warm in the dim light.

“Wh–“ he began, and winced.

“Oh, love,” she cooed, and looked over the infernal beeping machine. “You shouldn’t be talking. Your throat and lungs are still healing, okay? How are you feeling?” She leaned in close.

He just winced and closed his eyes. He managed to get his arm up and touch his throat. 

“All right,” she murmured, “Here, have an ice cube, all right? You must be thirsty.”

Steve gladly took the small cold cube and sucked on it slowly. He blinked, feeling a scratchiness under his eyelids.

“You’re in the Brooklyn Hospital, Mr Rogers,” she smiled at the name. “You were brought in three days ago because you survived a fire.” She looked at him. “Yes, you did.”

He breathed slowly, feeling the ache in his chest.

“I’m very glad to see you awake,” she murmured, slipping another ice cube between his lips. “You’ve been sedated a fair bit so that the doctors could inspect your trachea, mouth and other injuries.”

Steve was dumbfounded.

“Wh–“ he tried again, but no luck.

She paused and came closer. “Yes?”

He tried to tap his wrist with his other hand. He tapped twice.

“Oh,” she nodded, “The time?”

He nodded.

“It’s about two am, and most everyone is asleep round here.”

Steve sank back into his pillows, scrunching his eyes, the tears almost there.

“It’s all right,” his nurse said, “You’re all right now.”

 

* * *

Nurse Angelica was just teaching him how to use the inhaler chamber when a couple faces appeared at the curtain.

“Steve!” Kate all but bellowed.

“Excuse me!” Nurse Angelica twisted and shushed her. “This is a hospital!”

Kate slapped her hands over her mouth, mortified.

Steve inhaled what was in the oblong plastic chamber, held it, and felt his lungs ease. Nurse Angelica nodded and took his meds away, leaving them on the side table.

“I take it you know these two?” she quirked a brow at the teenage girls.

Steve nodded, “Yeah,” he said, voice like a whisper.

She let them be and America crowded up to his bed, all wide eyes and smiles. “You’re awake!” she cried gently. “I’m so fuckin’ glad!” She fell against his chest, arms flung across him in a flat, pancake-like hug.

Steve smiled and patted her arm.

He tried to tell her it was okay, but he couldn’t just yet. Talking was a pain in the ass.

“You can’t talk?” Kate asked, coming round the other side. “I researched the symptoms and recovery for surviving a fire. It’s crazy, you know. Your eyes are still red. But you’ll get there. Look, I brought reading materials.” she held up a stack of what looked like teenage magazines with pretty girls on the covers. “Good articles in here and makeup tips and there’s a sweet chapter on the millennial female uprising that’s goin' on in social media these days. You’d like that. Here, I put colour tabs on the pages, okay?” She laid the stack down on the floor beside the bed. There were rows of flowers and gifts all over the tiny space he’d been given, in what was a seemingly busy ward. He supposed he was lucky to have a wall on one side. Kate began moving vases around so her magazines could take pride of place.

He nodded with a frown and pointed to his neck. Kate just nodded back.

“You’ve been unconscious so long,” America sighed into the blankets.

“Not unconscious,” Kate said, “Sedated. There’s a difference. It’s like a druggie sleep.”

“Morphine?” America mumbled. “Used to know an uncle who got addicted to that shit.”

Kate looked at Steve and he shrugged.

“Probably codeine,” Kate said, flopping into the one visitor’s chair he’d been allowed.

America sat up and smiled.

Gosh, but that was nice to see.

“Officer Wilson came to see you, huh?” she asked. “He said you were awake. Actually left the message with my abuela. He’s all right, that guy.”

“We ditched class,” Kate added and Steve looked _scandalized_. “Chill out,” she sighed, “It was math and you _know_ neither of us going into that crazy world.”

“Mathematicians are ballers and freaks, addicted to the glory and fame,” America said.

Steve scowled, but bit his tongue.

“So did they clean the gunk out your nose? I read that was an issue,” America asked, her hair spilling onto the blanket around her. She settled her chin on her arms. Was she just kneeling on the floor? Steve made a mental note to ask the nurses if he could _please_ get another chair.

“Well, did they?” America asked again. “The gunk?” She wiggled her index finger in a nose-picking action.

Steve laughed wheezily and nodded. He tilted his head back as proof.

“Cool,” she said. “Also, gross. Your nose is a mess and it’s stuffed with stuff.” The gauze was a bit much, yeah. It had Steve breathing through his mouth and he constantly felt parched. 

He wanted to ask them if they’d seen Bucky since, but…he felt foolish.

They blabbed a bit more, playing it easy, pretending he didn’t almost die in a damn furnace.

“You know, I kinda miss your dumb voice,” America said, looking up at him. She blinked a little hard. “I can hear myself talking and it’s annoying.”

“She’s glad you’re okay,” Kate murmured, flipping through one of the books she’d brought. “Oh, hey, you have a whiteboard.” she leaned over and yanked out the small board Sam had brought in for Steve. She handed it to him. “You got any questions for us? We are wise beyond our years, you know.”

Steve took the board and stared at it.

Sam had given him the rundown on the whole deal. He’d explained what happened, how they found him, how close he’d come to being charred dust. It had upset Steve to think about them all freaking out about him. He’d written as much and Sam…Sam had gotten real teary-eyed about it. Said it wasn’t a problem. Not Steve’s issue. They were all just glad he was okay.

They’d planned to do a real interview with a secondary officer soon, to get the full statement. Steve had circled Fisk’s name a billion times on his board and Sam had nodded, understanding. They were working on it.

As of right now, though, Steve was on medical leave for who knows how long. Sam said administration was treading carefully. They didn’t want to broadcast the details of Steve’s rescue, but they also didn’t want to play it down, seeing as it was such a big deal. Kidnapping and torture of a police officer was not something they could gloss over. Sam figured they were waiting for an arrest. Steve agreed _. Frustrating._

He scribbled two words on the board and turned it towards the girls.

Kate’s face fell and America immediately buried her face in his blankets.

“You don’t gotta thank us,” Kate said, getting up to envelop him in her arms.

America was shaking a little and Steve felt his heart warm.

“We just wanted to help,” Kate added, “You woulda done the same for us.” Steve swallowed hard and hugged them both. They were _such_ good kids. 

Someone cleared their throat and Steve looked up.

His eyes widened.

“Uh,” Bucky said, unsure. “Hi.”

Both girls stood up, America wiping at her eyes. “Oh, yeah, Bucky brought us,” she muttered.

“I went to get coffees,” he held up a tray with three cups on it and a water.

America and Kate converged on him, snatching their own drinks and then they just exited hastily, giving Bucky weird looks with lots of eyebrow action. “We’ll be back!” Kate hollered.

“Hospital!” Nurse Angelica hissed from somewhere close by.

Steve’s heart felt unsure as Bucky awkwardly approached him.

He looked the same as always, his leather jacket over a plain grey tee, his dark hair shiny and loose; though he had dark shadows under his eyes. 

“You can drink water, right?” Bucky asked, placing the bottle on Steve’s overcrowded bedside table.

Steve nodded.

Bucky tucked his hair behind one ear and put his own coffee beside the water. He threw the paper tray in the too-small trash can. It was already overflowing with flowers that had died.

Then he looked at Steve properly. He frowned, his eyes looking paler than ever taking in the myriad of injuries Steve had sustained. Steve had seen himself once in a mirror and it wasn't a good look.

“I was gonna bring flowers,” he said, “But I don’t know shit about them, what they mean. What if I brought something that said ‘you’re adopted’ or whatever. That would be shitty.” He trailed off at the end, looking beyond awkward and adorable all at once.

Steve smiled.

“Can I sit?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded dopily. He didn’t know what to think, what he would say if he could. He’d wondered if Bucky’d been here when he was out. Had Bucky seen how bad he looked? The bruises, the broken nose, the cuts. 

Bucky walked around the bed and scooched the chair closer before gingerly sitting. “Don’t like hospitals,” he murmured, clearly uncomfortable. Did he feel obligated to come? “Reminds me of when I got back home after deployment.” He looked at Steve. “Not necessarily good memories.”

Steve just blinked at that. Bucky _never_ talked about his time in the army.

Bucky chewed his lip and leaned forward. “How are you feeling?” he rumbled.

Steve tilted his head to the side. _Okay, considering._

Bucky nodded. “I’m…” he began, then swallowed, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Steve picked up the marker and wrote on his board. He turned it to Bucky.

_Sam says you saved me._

Bucky’s face fell. “The whole team did,” he murmured, looking down. “It wasn’t me.”

Steve smudged out the words with his palm and wrote more.

_He says you carried me out._

Sam had said Bucky carried him all the way out of the burning building, Thor and Valkyrie right on his heels, and wouldn’t let anyone near him otherwise. The paramedics had to basically tear him off to get at Steve.

Bucky rubbed at his eyes. “It…was nothing. Please, Steve, let’s not.”

Steve frowned, then wrote: _sorry._

“ _No_ , no, augh, Steve,” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean that. Please don’t say that. You did nothing wrong. He took a deep breath and looked at Steve properly.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” he said. “I should have said that the minute I walked in. I’m just a chickenshit. Such a shit.” he shook his head and mumbled something else under his breath.

Steve’s eyes widened as Bucky got up and came to lean on the bed.

“Steve, I’m sorry, okay?” those big blue eyes looked into his soul. “I’m sorry this happened to you, I’m sorry we argued, I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m an idiot and I’ve never felt more regret about it than I do now. I thought the army was bad, but hurting you? It’s a whole other kind of bad. I need you to know that. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt. Those bastards…they fucked you up and almost killed you and I can’t forgive myself for starting it.”

He looked so earnest, Steve’s heart did a sort of flip-flop. He wasn’t even mad at Bucky, but the other man looked forlorn.

He wrote on the board.

_You lied to me?_  
Bucky blinked slowly then looked Steve in the eyes. He nodded.

_????_ Steve scribbled. He tapped the board.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed out slowly. “I did.” He tugged the chair closer so he could sit but still rest his arms on the bed.

“That night, when you came over,” he began, “I played it dumb because I’m a cheap asshole with no spine.”

Steve blinked, remembering their argument, remembering how stupid he felt, how mad he’d been. But he felt different now. After the fire he just couldn’t rationalize the anger anymore. It wasn’t worth it. Here was Bucky, this beautiful, brave, strong and loyal man by his side and _Bucky_ felt bad? Ridiculous.

He put a hand on Bucky’s arm. 

“Steve,” Bucky said sadly, “I’m so sorry.” His voice wavered, then he cleared his throat. “You came over and basically called me out on my bullshit. Called me out for using you, which I felt angry about because nobody likes to have their faults pointed out, I guess. But it was true, you know? I was being a fuckin’ jerk.”

Steve swallowed. Here it was. He’d suspected it was coming, that guilt could end this all, but he understood. Bucky would have decided by now. 

He was gonna be okay.

“You said,” Bucky continued, he grasped Steve’s fingers in his hand. The skin was calloused and rough, but warm and strong as well. “You said I didn’t know why you kept coming back. You said it like I was oblivious.” He looked up. “But I do know. I’ve always known.”

Steve swallowed.

“I know you weren’t just looking for sex. I mean, I faked it like I was doing that, so you musta been too, right? Because it was safer. I know that. I know that you… loved me.”

Steve’s brows shot up and he blushed.

“I mean,” Bucky said, “Honestly, dude, you’re not exactly a brick wall of repression like me. It was kinda obvious.”

Steve wanted to hide under his blankets.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky said when Steve wiggled. “Look at me.”

Steve felt his face go so red it burned. Not that Bucky was _wrong,_ but _still._

Bucky stared at him, “I shouldn’t have been so laissez-faire with you. You deserve so much better than that.”

Steve shrugged awkwardly and he was a little impressed with _laissez-faire_.

“And…” Bucky took a deep breath, “Seein’ as you can’t exactly talk back right now, I figure it’s about time I come clean and I don’t gotta face your awkward blabber.”

Steve wanted to die. 

“I fuckin’–“ Bucky breathed loud again. “I think you’re … the best thing to ever happen to me,” he said, taking his own turn to flush pink in the cheeks. “Or you know.”

Steve’s mouth fell open.

“Okay?” Bucky mumbled deeply, and apparently embarrassment makes his voice drop a decibel. He never let go of Steve’s fingers. “It’s not just sex, it’s not just your amazing ass. It’s not the damn uniform or whatever. It’s you. You’re…phenomenal and I keep thinking I’m lucky you even looked at me just _once_ , nevermind twenty or so times.”

Steve blinked, his heart thumping like a drum in his ribcage.

He nudged the board over so he could write with his left hand.

He drew a heart and tapped it.

Bucky groaned and went even redder. 

Bucky Barnes, the tough as dirt mechanic who’s seen more bad shit than most, was here holding Steve’s hand like they were high school sweethearts and he was _dying of embarrassment._

Oh, Steve was going to milk this moment into eternity.

He pulled his fingers free of Bucky’s and ran them over Bucky’s hair.

He crooked a finger and Bucky’s eyes widened. Bucky leaned up, hands on the bed.

Steve pulled him in, fully aware that he looked like a frankenstein nightmare with bandages and bruising and stitches above his left eye.

His own lips were still swollen and cut and he had to be careful of his nose, but still, he drew Bucky in and kissed him. He had priorities.

Bucky whimpered and gently kissed back; More gently than ever before.

It was like always: sweet, magical and everything Steve ever wanted.

“Ah,” a voice came and the two of them sprang apart.

Nurse Angelica was standing with her brows up and a tight smile on her lips like she knew she should be annoyed at this, but kind of chose to be amused instead.

“Time for your meds, Officer Rogers,” she said, laying the plastic tray on the bed.

She glanced at Bucky, who had backed away, and wiped at his lips with his palm. Steve wanted to laugh at the way Bucky was trying to make it look like he hadn’t been locking lips with a very injured patient.

“Your friend here is unfortunately going to have to leave, as visiting hours are over,” Nurse Angelica said, fluffing Steve’s blanket. She eyed Steve.

He grinned.

She shook her head and sighed.

“Um, okay,” Bucky said awkwardly and walked round the bed to grab his coffee. “I’ll, um,” he turned and backed away. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he uttered.

Steve smiled and gave him a _look_ that heavily implied _you’d better be._

 

* * *

 

It was weeks since the fire and Steve was recovering slowly. His face was still healing and his torso had lost the ugly bruising that always made the nurses wince whenever he had check-ups. His broken rib was mended already and the scratches on his skin were all but gone.

The multiple scans they’d given him showed that his organs were doing fine. His eye was back to normal, if still a bit pink round the iris. His nose…well, what was another broken nose? His lungs were still recovering, but he was working on that. It would take time to clear the mess properly, but he could breathe, thank God.

Visitors flowed in and out of his room on a daily basis.

Even Natasha showed up with chocolates and beer.

“For when you finally get the all-clear,” she murmured, kissing his forehead.

“Is that Murdock’s home brew?” he queried, eyeing the shoddy label.

“Perhaps,” she smiled.

Clint was a little worse off.

“I can’t believe this, man,” he’d muttered over and over. “’S fucking nuts. When we heard, I almost lost it. Can’t believe some asshole would think to fuckin’–“ 

The fire was making people cautious, anxious around him. They didn’t want to bring it up, lest it freak him out, but he was doing better about it.

“Anyway,” Clint muttered, scratching his nose, “They’ll get the fuckers.”

“You’ll be pleased to know we tracked down the real estate man, Chuck, for you,” Natasha said. Her smile was scary, like an asp. 

“Do I wanna know?” Steve croaked.

“Probably not,” She said. “He’s in police custody now.”

“You know what?” Clint blathered, “You know what was the most fucked up part? I mean, apart from the obvious,” he said, “Is that you lost teeth. I mean, the list of injuries, the broken bones and the smoke inhalation and the burns were crazy. But that they hit you so hard you lost a couple teeth and no one even fucking noticed until they could…” he sniffed, “Until you told them. After you fuckin’ _woke up_.”

Which was true. Steve had been dozy and drugged up, and his tongue found something strange, missing molars on one side, the side goon #3 had taken to knocking.

“I’m just–“ Clint’s hands were fists at his sides and he was almost vibrating with anger.

“Hey, maybe you wanna get a coffee,” Natasha said gently. “Get some air.”

“Fuck,” Clint glanced at Steve. “Sorry. Yeah, I’ll…I’ll get coffees.”

When he was gone, Natasha looked down at Steve. “He’s really upset,” she murmured. “Good guys like you don’t deserve this,” she added. “He wants to do something about it.”

Steve smiled, “His rap sheet, though.”

Natasha smiled to match him. “Yeah. One of many problems we can’t solve.”

 

* * *

“You good?” Sam asked for the billionth time.

“Yes, God, I’m _fine_ ,” Steve huffed.

“Well, you don’t have to call me _God_ but sure,” Sam said like he wasn’t the most annoying human on earth right now.

“Can you please stop unpacking,” Steve said, anguished by the way Sam was putting away the groceries.

“Look, I had to throw out your manky-ass food from your manky-ass fridge while you were away, okay?” Sam said. “I gotta help you put more food back.”

“Cereal doesn’t go there,” Steve griped. His kitchen was overflowing with the remainder of his gifts and well-wishes.

Sam continued to jam it into the cupboard. “Tough titties,” he said and closed the cupboard door.

“Now,” he turned to eye Steve, “You sure you gonna be good? You can call me or Karen when you need somethin’.”

“I _said_ ,” Steve griped and exited the kitchen before he threw a can of sliced pineapples at Sam’s head. “I’ll be fine. I only need a couple more weeks recovery.”

“Insurance says you’re good for four, Rogers,” Sam followed him like an angry gnat.

“Well, whatever it says, I’ll be fine. I got my inhaler, got my meds. I can walk, I can talk. The brace for my leg comes off on Wednesday. All good, _Officer Wilson_.”

Sam sighed loudly and followed Steve to the foyer of his small house. Steve could tell some folks had come over to help clean the place. It had never looked so tidy.

A tupperware of cookies was on the side table where all his mail had been stacked. 

“Sam, I love you, man,” Steve said, “But I need rest, okay? Seriously, thank you for your help, I appreciate it.”

Sam made all manner of mom-faces before relenting.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, opening the door after he’d grabbed his jacket. “I’ll be round tonight to check on you, see how you settled in.”

Sam hopped down the front steps, whistling loudly.

“Please don’t!” Steve cried out.

Sam waved at him from the cruiser and grinned wider.

“Damnit,” Steve mushed his face against the doorjamb. “Ow,” he winced and rubbed at his cheek and nose.

 

* * *

When the doorbell rang, he almost fell over trying to get up from the sofa.

He hobbled to the door and peeked through the peephole. 

“Hey,” he breathed, smiling as he flung the door open.

“Hi,” Bucky smiled back softly. He held up two boxes of pizza and some cans of pop. “Delivery?”

Steve grinned, “Thank the sweet baby Jesus. I’m starving.”

 

* * *

They’d spent a few nights like this.

Bucky’d come over, bring dinner or they’d order in.

Steve had spent maybe a moment worrying about his waistline until Bucky brought Korean food over and he decided he deserved to get fat and happy, just for a while.

“I still don’t get how you’ve never seen the Hobbit?” Steve was saying, pointing at the dragon on-screen.

Bucky shrugged, “Didn’t care,” he murmured, seated beside Steve on the sofa. They’d moved the furniture around (well, Bucky had), as Steve’s place was smaller than Bucky’s and he hadn’t until now made the TV position a priority.

“But it’s so good,” Steve said, throwing popcorn at his mouth and missing.

He watched Smaug weave around pillars, hissing at little Bilbo. “I loved the book when I was little,” Steve said. “Used to draw dragons all the time. My ma thought I was a little obsessed.”

He turned to look at Bucky who had this fond sort of smile on his face, not even watching the damn movie.

“I’m only starting to realize something, Rogers,” he said.

“What?” Steve blinked at him, still chewing.

“That you’re a giant nerd, aren’t you?” Bucky grinned. “You’ve got more board games than Hasbro. You keep your spices in test tubes and you love everything about this story about a fuzzy-footed lil’ dude who’s also kind of a giant dork.”

Steve made a face. “Nothing wrong with being a nerd.”

Bucky laughed and Steve flushed at the sound. “I didn’t say there was,” Bucky murmured, stroking the back of his fingers against Steve’s arm.

“Well, don’t be surprised then if I invite you to the next game of Ticket to Ride.”

Bucky frowned, “I don’t even know what that is,” he said.

“Well, then,” Steve pinched his lips together. “Who’s the uneducated lout then?”

 

* * *

“So…this is kinda sad,” Bucky murmured as they watched one of final fights in the Battle of the Five Armies.

“Yeah,” Steve said, resting his head back against Bucky’s chest. They were both laid out, Steve between Bucky’s legs, his own extended to accommodate his aching knee. “It was tough going to see this with friends who hadn’t read the book.”

“I’ll bet,” Bucky murmured, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s forearm.

The TV flickered as the battle raged on.

“Buck,” Steve murmured a moment later. “I want you to know something.”

Bucky shifted a little. “Yeah?”

Steve chewed his lip. “I want you to know that this…us. We don’t have to go public. I understand if you want to keep it private. It’s not…easy, for you. And as much as this means a lot to me, it’s not important for others to see us as a couple or anything. It won’t validate this more to me.”

Bucky was quiet.

“I just want you to know that,” Steve said, “Because after the fire, I just…I had a lot of stuff put into perspective. I want you as you are. For so long it didn’t even matter if you wanted me back. I just wanted you however I could get you. So I can’t blame you for feeling stuck in something you didn’t plan for, okay?”

Bucky’s breath was warm against Steve’s ear.

“Bucky?” Steve started to twist.

“Hey, no, stay still,” Bucky rumbled gently. “It’s, okay.”

They were silent for a moment.

“You’re something else, Rogers,” Bucky murmured.

Steve could tell it was meant kindly, so he just settled into Bucky’s warmth and continued to watch the movie.

 

* * *

“Do you have to go?” Steve asked as Bucky packed away the recycling. “I mean, you don’t have work in the morning.”

The other man looked up with a crooked brow. “Uh huh,” Bucky said, trying to hide his smile.

“You could stay over,” Steve said.

“Is that so?” Bucky said, clapping his hands together and coming round the kitchen island toward Steve. “I hope you’re not propositioning me, Officer Rogers.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Steve said, nose in the air.

Bucky chuckled and came in for a sweet kiss.

Steve grunted and pulled him closer. “More,” he said, opening his mouth to Bucky. “You’re holding out on me”

Bucky almost whined but he did kiss Steve back with passion. Their kisses were getting headier, more urgent.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped for breath. He _must_ feel Steve’s erection through his sweatpants and Bucky’s jeans. “Hey.”

“Come on, Barnes,” Steve whined. “Really?”

Bucky looked at him with a soft gaze. He ran a calloused thumb over Steve’s lips. “Maybe a littlelonger, until we know you’re fixed up?”

“No,” Steve insisted and pressed himself closer. “I haven’t gotten laid in over two months. You’re killing me.”

"You think I have, pal? I'm just as hard up," Bucky chuckled and kissed him again. Steve shivered as the kiss deepened. Bucky’s tongue played with him, teasing.

_Ah. See, now that was definitely a corresponding boner._

“Come on,” Steve breathed, lapping at Bucky, licking his lips.

“I’m killing _you?_ Steve, you’re killing _me,_ here.” Bucky sounded at a loss.

“Then let’s do something about it,” Steve breathed, sliding his hand down Bucky’s stomach. When Bucky’s eyes darkened, Steve grinned in victory.

 

* * *

“Ow, my knee,” Steve hissed.

“Oh, Jeez,” Bucky sat up on his own knees, panting.

“Don’t stop, though!” Steve pulled him back down. “You idiot.”

“I’m the idiot?” Bucky groused, getting thoroughly kissed while Steve pushed at Bucky’s underwear. They were sprawled on Steve’s bed, clothes strewn everywhere. “God, Steve,”

Steve heard Bucky gasp just as he grabbed a handful of ass.

“Oh, yesss,” Steve hissed. “Missed this.”

“You’re a fuckin’ tyrant,” Bucky grumbled and made short work of Steve’s underwear. He pulled back, finally wiggling Steve’s boxers down his errant leg. Steve was breathing hard.

He stared up at Bucky who was looking at him reverently, like Steve was a religious offering. 

“What?” Steve asked.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Bucky breathed out in a rush. “You were the first time.”

Flashbacks of their first night together washed over Steve. “What were you thinking that night?” he asked.

Bucky was still looking him over. He chewed his lip and ran fingers up the inside of Steve’s leg, tickling a little. “I don’t know,” he answered. He crawled over Steve, his big arms flexing. God, he was stunning. Steve’s heart skipped a beat when Bucky leaned in to kiss his collarbone, then his neck. He kissed a row up Steve’s skin before finding his lips again.

They kissed deeply, wetly and Steve felt almost weak from it all.

“Bucky,” he breathed, running his hands through Bucky’s hair.

“I thought I was crazy,” Bucky whispered. “I thought I was going nuts because you were this hot _dude_. The little twerp from down the street, all grown up. So sexy, so strong. And you…” he kissed Steve deeply. “You were so fuckin’ _pretty_ with your face and your ass and your smile.”

Steve flushed red all down his neck and chest.

“Yeah, like that,” Bucky grinned, looking Steve over. “From your lips to your tits.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve pouted and frowned.

Bucky waggled his brows and slipped lower, slowly kissing over Steve and down to his nipple. Steve gasped as that devilish tongue licked him again and again.

“You’re obsessed,” he grunted.

Bucky glanced up, “With these beauties? Hell yeah.” He continued to squeeze Steve’s pecs and lavish all manner of lovin’ on them until Steve was shivering.

“Mmmm,” Bucky licked a stripe back up to Steve’s chin.

“Condoms?” he asked, voice gravelly and dark.

“Chest of drawers, sock drawer,” Steve uttered, shaken. His eyes followed Bucky as he rolled over and off the bed. He yanked his underwear down, kicking them aside, before walking over to the tall drawer set Steve kept his clothes in.

“Really?” Bucky murmured, “Your _sock_ drawer?”

Steve was very distracted by Bucky’s strong back and ass.

Bucky turned and sauntered back to the bed, completely unaware of how absolutely gorgeous he was. Michelangelo would blow his load to sculpt anything near to Bucky’s perfection. Steve was almost panting for it.

“Okay,” Bucky clambered over him, tapping the condom packet against his lips. He sat gently astride Steve’s belly. “Top or bottom?”

Steve blinked up at him. “Uh…” he said eloquently.

Bucky raised one brow and smiled. “Your choice.”

Wow. Okay. 

So, he definitely wanted to top Bucky if only because Bucky rarely wanted to and Steve could get to see Bucky’s ass up close and personal, however…

He also loved Bucky inside him, fucking him. Bucky was _very_ good at it. Ten out of ten good. The Yelp review on Bucky’s lovemaking would probably make the internet implode. _Five stars for attention to detail and excellent fingering prowess. Would definitely recommend._

“You thinkin’ hard there, pal?” Bucky chuckled, feeling Steve’s dick bobbing behind him.

“Bottom,” Steve breathed out.

Bucky blinked in surprise. “Really?”

Steve nodded, and pressed his palms to Bucky’s hips where the muscle and flesh swelled just below because of the way Bucky was sitting. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Like this.” He rubbed his hands over Bucky’s skin. Warm and soft.

Bucky frowned, “You on top?”

“No,” Steve frowned, “I mean, face-to-face. I want you in me, fucking me senseless.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened and he huffed out a short breath. “All right, I think I can manage that.”

And Steve was given the pleasure of watching Bucky tear the wrapper and roll the condom onto his hard dick. Steve didn’t even fall apart.

“But first,” Bucky muttered before shimmying down Steve’s body, “I wanna get you ready.”

He’d obviously picked up the almost-empty lubricant bottle from Steve’s sock drawer because not only did Steve jump at the feel of Bucky’s mouth on him, but also at the slightly cold finger at his entrance.

“Jesus fuck,” Steve gasped, jolting.

One finger circled him while Bucky scooted in closer, opening Steve’s legs wider so he could get real close and suck.

Bucky was getting much better at giving head. Steve panted, watching Bucky suck softly at the head before going lower.

Steve was pretty hard already, but this was almost evil, having to watch his cock disappear into Bucky’s mouth like that.

“ _Buck_ , Bucky,” Steve gasped, throwing his head back and shivering. Bucky sucked him up and down, slowly, perfectly, humming every so often. His finger played with Steve, stretching, easing in.

Steve winced when his leg was jostled a bit.

Bucky immediately pulled off, breathing heavily. “Knee?” he asked, lips wet and pink and full because Steve’s _cock_ had been there and _fuck._

Steve sat up, his abdominal muscles working overtime. Bucky’s eyes widened when Steve placed both hands against the sides of his face.

“Get up here now and fuck me,” Steve grunted.

Bucky’s jaw dropped but he didn’t need telling twice. He crawled closer and Steve fell back laughing. Bucky’s dick hung heavily above Steve’s own. 

“Better hurry,” Steve smiled.

“Sh-shut up,” Bucky stuttered, “You sorcerer.”

Steve laughed louder and Bucky growled, lowering himself, shimmying his ass so as to line up properly.

Steve’s breath caught, feeling Bucky poking at his entrance.

He curled both hands around the back of Bucky’s neck. 

“Yeah?” Bucky breathed, eyes not wavering.

Steve nodded.

The press and feel…oh, it was heady.

Steve’s head lolled and he took short breaths. He was _not_ going to last long, apparently.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, sliding in perfectly. “Ugh.”

Steve’s legs opened wider to receive him until he could feel Bucky’s balls against his skin.  Steve panted and blinked.  Bucky was looking down at him like he was … _everything._

_“_ I’m so f-fuckin’ happy right now,” Steve uttered, “You don’t even know.”

Bucky kissed him, tongue playing with Steve’s. “I think I do,” he said between kisses.

And then he started to pull back. And push in.

Bucky rearranged himself, knees getting good anchor before he started a long, slow build.

Steve’s breaths were coming short and fast now.

Every time Bucky slid home, his cock would grind against Steve’s prostate, causing shivers to ripple through him.

Bucky’s hands kept moving until they found a new spot wrapped at the juncture of Steve’s leg and hip. Bucky’s thumbs were pressing to the inside of Steve’s thigh, the rest of his fingers over Steve’s hips, holding him there. 

“Oh God,” Steve gasped, feeling Bucky slide back in so slowly it was like a pleasure storm.

Bucky’s own breathing was a little off as he concentrated, trying to stay up while his hands held Steve down. The muscles in his back were fully flexed, all for Steve to caress and touch.

“Come on,” Steve gasped, pulling himself up, twisting his torso closer to Bucky.

_“Ngh,_ you’re gonna unbalance me,” Bucky grunted.

“Touch me, Buck,” Steve said, wrapping his legs around Bucky.

And Bucky must have given up on technique, because his hands moved to the bed and he flopped down, sticking every inch of himself to Steve. He thrust harder, faster, punching gasps out of Steve every time he slapped into Steve’s ass.

Bucky kissed Steve, licked him, panted alongside him as he fucked Steve perfectly.

“You’re so…amazing,” Bucky grunted, his sweaty hair falling into his eyes.

Steve pushed at the hair and stared up at him. He gasped again as Bucky’s dick ground into him slow and purposeful this time.

Bucky groaned and picked up the pace.

“Yes, yes,” Steve panted, holding on. “Oh yes _fuck me.”_

His ass was going to feel _raw_ in the morning, but this was worth it. Bucky’s cock was sliding in and out of him with wet, lewd noises and Bucky was losing it.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped weakly.

Steve slid a hand down between them and took hold of his own cock. With pleasure like this from both sides it was–it was–

Steve felt his face flush and his chest arched. Bucky’s cock drove home, thick and heavy and he’d never ever felt so damn complete in his whole life.

“Ungh!” Steve cried and stiffened, his cock rock-hard in his hand, pulsing between them.

Bucky’s eyes were wide, perhaps shocked, who knows. He glanced down at the mess on his and Steve’s skin, looked up again and _smiled_.

He slammed home _hard_ and held himself there, deep inside Steve.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasped, shivers rippling over his shoulders and down his arms.

“You coming?” Steve slurred.

Bucky nodded quickly, eyes wet and wide as he stared at Steve.

And Steve could feel it. He could feel Bucky thickening inside him, hot and heavy and _perfect._

Bucky gasped for air and unbalanced, toppling onto Steve completely.

“Oof!” Steve grunted.

“S-sorry,” Bucky breathed, unable to right himself.

“It’s okay,” Steve breathed heavily. “It’s okay, baby.”

He patted Bucky’s ass, feeling the sweat and warmth against his fingers. He wrapped both arms around Bucky, holding him close, inside for as long as he could.

 

* * *

* * *

“Mr Wilson Fisk?”

The tall, broad man at the gate looked up and frowned. “Yes? Who are you?”

“My name is Officer Wilson and I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“What?” Fisk barked, standing tall. He looked around at the flight staff that had walked him from his private jet. They all looked very uncomfortable. “What for? This is unbelievable.”

Officer Wilson smiled, his fellow officers right behind him. “Apparently not. Now if you’d be so kind.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. How dare you!” Fisk bellowed, drawing eyes their way.

“Oh, I dare,” Officer Wilson said, snapping open a pair of metal handcuffs. “Wilson Fisk, you are under arrest for the planned kidnapping and torture of a Brooklyn Law Enforcement Officer. You are also under arrest for racketeering, arson, obstruction of justice, illegal drug distribution and a helluva lot more.”

“You can’t do this!” the woman with Fisk cried out, her handbag heavy on her arm. “This is absolutely ridiculous!” More police officers moved in.

“Are you Vanessa Mariana?” Another, younger policeman came forward.

“Yes,” she glared at him. “What is this?”

“You are also under arrest, ma’am,” the man said politely, “For obstruction of justice and coercion. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you–“

* * *

* * *

“There he is!” a voice cried out and the whole crowd gathered let out an immense cheer. Steve was walking with Sam up to the street party, the first of the Summer. He blushed, his last hope of drawing attention to himself fading. It was dark already and the folks had been eating, barbecuing, dancing and singing for hours now.

“Oh come on,” He hissed to Sam as people flooded towards him.

So many well-wishers in the community patted him on the back, dragged him into hugs and shook his hand with glee.

“Shame you’re such a star,” Sam snickered. What a traitor.

“Steve!” Clint rolled up to them, arms flung wide. Oh, was he already drunk?  “You made it! C’mon!” Clint cried, slinging an arm around Steve’s neck. “Let’s get you some grub, pal. We got the sweetest ribs and thick cut fries just for you, my man!”

Steve went along with him because, well, he didn’t really have much choice.

 

Hours flew by and he was a _bit_ tipsy and a whole lot happy.

The entire neighbourhood had turned out to celebrate the first warm week. Everyone was laughing and dancing and singing along to Ice’s new DJ setup. It was everything Steve had ever wanted to see.

“This is so good,” he murmured to Natasha, who had finally broken open the beer with him. “I love this place.”

She smiled at him, “You done good, Steve. Almost makes a girl proud.”

He gave her a lopsided smile, “You? Proud? Never.”

She tilted her head. “Well, you did break up a drug smuggling crew, bring down a power hungry tyrant intent on destroying everything we have, while also being an all-round decent human being after all.”

“Sam helped,” he murmured.

Natasha sipped her beer. “It’ll do, I suppose.”

“Hey!” America cried out, pushing between folks, threading through the crowd like an eel. “Steve! Come dance with us!” She grabbed his beer and handed it to Natasha. “Come on!”

“What?” Steve stuttered, “No, no, I don’t dance.”

America rolled her eyes and yanked at his arm. “Come on, _everybody dances_.”

[A new song started up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NnzChrd0S4) and a whole slew of teenagers cheered. “This my jam!” America bellowed, pulling Steve through the mass of people and to the small open pocket of the road where Kate and Teddy and Billy were laughing and shaking themselves in what was some kinda slow-jam approximation of a dance.

Steve felt like an idiot, but he complied, very impressed with the way the kids could move.

“This old school shit is the best,” Billy crowed.

“Oh man, this is old school?” Steve huffed. “Then I’m ancient.”

“Come on!” America and Kate cried in unison, swinging him around

“ _Don’t go chasin’ waterfalls! Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to!_ ” they all cried together, swaying with the beat. Steve smiled, matching their rhythm. Everyone loved this song, it just resonated.

He followed their steps and mimicked their waving arms until he was grinning ear-to-ear.

Then America spun him around just as the second chorus blossomed around them, getting louder.

Bucky was there, in a faded sleeveless tee and his grease-stained, torn jeans, coming in closer. He slid an arm around Steve’s waist and the blonde stuttered.

“Buck?” he choked out as the man took his other hand in his, swaying him slowly into a smooth circle. The music swelled around them and Steve stared back into those eyes with awe. His heart was hammering in his chest, just blown away by the feelings flowing inside him.

“W-what are you doing?” Steve whispered, glancing at the crowd around them. Heedless, Bucky kept dancing, tugging Steve in close, their foreheads resting against one another.

“I wanted a dance,” Bucky murmured with a small smile. “And I don’t give a shit what other people think. You’re mine now, Rogers.”

Steve flushed pink as Bucky leaned in for a sweet kiss.

The teenagers around them whooped and hollered like brazen hyenas. “Yas! It worked!” Billy hissed, giving Kate a high-five. America grinned wider than anyone.

Steve pulled back, all red and embarrassed at such complete _romance._

“Barnes,” he groused, frowning through his embarrassment. “Did you set this up? Did you coerce a bunch of idiotic kids to set up this thing?”

Bucky grinned and pulled him in tight. “Hmmm, maybe. They did do a school musical in ninth grade, hence the choreographed moves.”

Steve’s gaze softened and his heart felt full.

“You are such a big ol’ sap,” he murmured and Bucky smiled right back.

 

 

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me and reading my silly story about these two dorkuses. I appreciate every comment and kudos sincerely. \o/
> 
> If you want to stay entangled in my weird-ass web, just [subscribe to the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/781374) for any possible updates, okay?  
>   
> Thanks guys! You are all the best. Wishing you a happy 2017 and a fabulous 2018 filled with hope and clarity and sensitivity and love. <3


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